THE GUNFIGHTER
by J7339
Summary: Sequel to False Witness - Three years after Butch Thomas promises to return he does just that and intends to seek revenge on Joe Cartwright by any means he can - a whole new game is about to begin. FINALLY UPDATED !
1. Default Chapter

THE GUNFIGHTER  
  
This story is a sequel to False Witness and although it would be possible to read on it's own, you will need to know the background about the character Butch Thomas and how he and the Cartwright family came to know of each other.  
  
I have changed my mind slightly for this story and it will take place only 3 years after Thomas was sent to prison for the attempted murder and kidnapping of Little Joe Cartwright. That makes Joe 19 years old for this story and suits the theme of the story a little better. I was originally going to have it five years afterwards at the age of 21 years.  
  
Hope you enjoy this one as much as False Witness:  
  
Three years earlier these few words echoed in Joe Cartwright's memory:  
  
"SOMEDAY I WILL COME BACK. YOU AND I WILL MEET AGAIN - I PROMISE"  
  
and now the story turns another page and continues:  
  
For Joe Cartwright, the day would begin as any other. However by the end of it, he would question some of the everyday things that he did out of routine and often took for granted. There would be events that would shape his way of thinking and actions for many months ahead..........  
  
The Cartwright family were currently finishing off breakfast at the beginning of another routine day on the Ponderosa.  
  
Ben Cartwright, the Patriarch of the family rose from the table first and took his gun belt down from the credenza before starting to buckle it around his waist. "Joe I still need you to be at the timber yard after lunch sometime today. With all of the break- downs we have had lately and men leaving, I still need an extra pair of hands there."  
  
"Sure Pa," Joe replied as he drained the last of his black coffee from the cup and now got up from the table himself and joined his father near the front door to grab his own hat and gun belt.  
  
"I just got to go up by that north-easterly paddock to take a look at the fence that those fellows were supposed to fix yesterday. After that I will head down to the timber yard and give you a hand," Joe said to his father.  
  
"Don't you trust the men you hired enough to complete the job on their own Joe?" Adam said partly in fun at his younger brother.  
  
"Frankly no," Joe's curt reply came back. He wasn't cranky with Adam, more with himself about not having looked more at the men he asked to do the job. He was sure if he checked into their backgrounds he would find some dishonesty or other criminal activity.  
  
There were just some men when you looked at them that gave you a bad impression from the start and the two Joe had hired a few weeks ago certainly fell into that category.  
  
"You aiming to do their work for them Little Joe?" Hoss asked.  
  
"No I am not. If I find that fence not fixed properly, I am going to make sure they go back there and complete the job properly, all night if necessary," Joe said with a little edge to his voice.  
  
Joe was only 19 years old but already had a lot more responsibility as a supervisor on the Ponderosa than most of his friends had on their family ranches. And while Joe admitted himself that he had a whole lot more to learn yet about how to successfully run the ranch the way his father had done for all those years, he was determined not to show uncertainty in front of the hands.  
  
If he expected them to respect him as a leader and a boss, than he needed to show that he could do it without his father and brothers to back him up all of the time. Sooner or later a time would come that he only had himself to rely on together with all that he had learned.  
  
"You take it easy out there today Boss," Hoss joked at his younger sibling, laughing a the title he afforded Joe.  
  
"You just make sure all your work is done by the time I get back here this afternoon," Joe said in his best "Pa voice", returning the joke. There was a time not so long ago that he would have flown off the handle at such a remark even though it had been made by one of his own family.  
  
"Could you imagine working under Joe if he was your Boss," Adam said as they watched Joe head out of the door and out of earshot.  
  
"Frankly, I rather not find out older brother," Hoss replied. "I have been on the end of Joe's temper one more time than I would like to remember. I don't think he'd take to kindly to having me on his work team anyway. I would always just be in the way like I was standing over him or something."  
  
"I think you right there Hoss," Adam commented, he too knowing all to well the wrath of his much smaller sibling when he was riled enough about something.  
  
For the first hour and a half that morning, Joe did exactly as he had told his family that he would do and check the north-easterly fences. Despite Joe's poor opinion of their work skills, the two of them had done a decent enough job.  
  
There were a few loose strands of wire that he tightened up and they certainly left a mess behind in their wake. But overall, Joe could see that they had at least achieved the task they had been set.  
  
Joe stopped his horse and allowed himself a well deserved short break and cool drink. He poured some of the water in to his hat and then offered the cool liquid to Cochise.  
  
The day was beginning to get hot already and Joe could already feel the droplets of sweat running down the back on his neck underneath of the collar of his work shirt, making him just that little bit more uncomfortable.  
  
"Come on Cooch, Pa will be waiting for us soon," Joe said to his four- legged friend and quickly mounted again so they could be on their way.  
  
There was quite a distance between the area of fencing that he had been checking and the timber yard. The sun was incredibly hot all the way and was now directly overhead as a very hot and weary horse and rider came into the timber yard.  
  
Joe got off his horse and used the bandana tied around his neck to wipe some of the perspiration from his brow. He then led Cochise over to a nearby water trough and let the animal have his fill and find some respite under the shade of a tree.  
  
Joe had even splashed some of the stagnant but cool water over his face and shoulders in an effort to cool himself down after the hot ride from the north- easterly pasture.  
  
As Joe now walked towards the building that was used to house the various saws and machinery, he was struck by how quiet the place was. He hadn't noticed it when he first arrived, but even now there wasn't anybody to be seen around.  
  
"Pa?" Joe called as he walked through the doorway. He paused momentarily to allow his eyes time to adjust to the bright sunlight outside. The building itself was fairly dark and shadowed.  
  
"Over here Joe," came the voice from his father. Joe relaxed a little and strode over in the direction from where the voice had come from.  
  
Ben Cartwright was currently in a bend-over position trying to tighten a large rotating arm on one of the buzz saws. There were four all together at the timber yard.  
  
The logging season had yet to begin properly but when it did start the saws would be kept going from sun up to sun down in order to cut the timber in time to meet demanding contracts back in San Francisco and around the nearby Virginia City mines  
  
Ben stood up to greet his son and wiped away the heat from his own forehead, which was replaced with a frown at the trouble he was having in getting the equipment working properly.  
  
"Still having problems Pa?" Joe asked, already knowing the answer to the question.  
  
"I am afraid so Joe," Ben said with disappointment in is voice. "I had to send the majority of the men home for today. It will be quite a while before I can get this arm working right, if I can get it working and there is no guarantee of that today.  
  
"I thought it sounded a little quiet around here when I came in," Joe said in response. He knew that this wasn't the first set of problems his father had been having with the timber saws. The place itself had been a constant stream of headaches and breakdowns for Ben over the last month.  
  
"So I guess you won't be wanting me to hang around here this afternoon," Joe said with a little hope in his voice of having some time to himself. He had had very little time off lately due to the work load with the fencing repairs that needed attending too.  
  
There was a cattle drive due to begin in a few weeks time and there would be a lot of work needed leading up to the drive and then the drive itself, so there would be no time anywhere in the near future to relax and allow oneself to wind down a little.  
  
"There's plenty of chores for you to attend to back at the yard young man," Ben said in mock sternness, seeing the unspoken thoughts in Joe's head of an afternoon off. On the contrary he knew that he and all his sons had put in some mighty long days and weeks lately and they could use a break and some time to themselves.  
  
"Actually Joe, what I need is for you to wait here with Tom while I go back to the barn and bring back one of your brothers or maybe both and some more tools to try and fix this thing," Ben now said.  
  
"Sure Pa," Joe replied knowing that his father had come to rely on him more and more lately. He didn't mind at all. The timber yard needed to be operational if they were to have a successful winter this year as well as meet their contractual obligations.  
  
"What can I do to help while you are gone Pa?" Joe now asked.  
  
Ben stood up and brushed the dirt combined with oil on his hands onto a strip of cloth that was laying nearby. "Not much son, I think some of these parts will have to be taken out all together when I get back and then hauled to town on a buckboard to the blacksmith to see if he can repair any of it."  
  
"If he can't then I will probably have to send a telegram to San Francisco tomorrow morning and have the parts especially ordered and shipped by stage. If that has to happen it will mean the timberyard will only be running at half the normal capacity for the next month until the new parts get here," Ben explained.  
  
"Some of the shafts on the arm need to be mended and there is more than one of them that I think are past repairable state."  
  
"Do you need to have all four of the saw's repaired Pa?" Joe now asked, trying to think just how much further such a detrimental act would allow the timber contract to get behind.  
  
"No Joe, I know what you are thinking and I know too that we just can't afford time wise or financially to do that. I will take these two here out," Ben said pointing to the buzz saw he was standing behind and another one across the floor.  
  
"The other two can wait until we get these operational again. Then once the parts are either replaced or mended, we can do the others," Ben said as he now strapped back on his gun-belt and prepared to head back to the Ponderosa.  
  
"How long do you think before you come back with the buckboard Mr Cartwright?" Tom now asked. Tom Withers was a middle aged man with no real family in Virginia City. He had been working for the Cartwrights for quite a number of years. Firstly as a ranch hand with the cattle and other livestock on the ranch.  
  
As years got away on Tom and his back started giving him trouble. At one point he was just going to quit his job and move onto greener pastures somewhere. But Ben wouldn't have any of that knowing the man was too valuable an employee to allow just to wander off into obscurity.  
  
A few years ago Ben suggested that Tom try helping out at the timberyard instead of working with the cattle. As it happened, Tom found an almost natural affinity for leading others and in no time at all found himself to be one of Ben's most trusted Foreman at the timberyard.  
  
"Oh I'd say about an hour at least Tom, maybe two," Ben said. "You and Joe wait here and I bring back the wagon and some more help. Some of those parts are going to be tricky getting out and will probably have some weight behind them."  
  
"See you soon Pa," Joe said as he watched his father mount Buck and turn his horse in the direction of the ranch. Ben gave a quick wave of his hand back towards Little Joe and Tom as he rode away.  
  
****************************************************************************  
  
"Well now then young Joe, what should we do with ourselves while we wait for your father to come back with the wagon?" Withers now asked. The man had seen Joe grow over the years. At first, a lonely boy without a mother but a strong family network to guide him with all of the love and understanding he needed.  
  
Tom had not been at the ranch when Marie had suddenly passed away due to a riding accident. He had arrived a year or two after but had been told of the family's tragic loss. At first he had known very little about Ben Cartwright and his sons.  
  
Adam had been going away to college about the same time as Tom first started working with the men. He had seen a much younger Adam try and assume his father's role in many areas of the ranch. By the time Adam had returned from his college days, Tom had noted that whilst Adam still admired and respected his father's opinion and judgment, Adam was now more determined to prove to people that he could make it on his own without his father being there to guide him all the way.  
  
Hoss had never really tried to follow in Ben's footsteps. Tom had watched Ben guide the larger boy in all aspects of ranch life, but is seemed when it came to knowing what the animals wanted, Hoss already knew. From a quite early stage in his life Hoss had always concerned himself with the welfare of the animals and making sure that they were always well-cared for and looked after.  
  
There had been many long nights for Hoss caring for an injured horse's leg before lameness was allowed to sit in. Others where Hoss was determined to help a young female cow bring her young newborn calf into this world a little easier.  
  
Hoss had never shown a real interest in learning from books the way Adam did. Hoss preferred to learn first hand, with his own two hands and sweat to make it happen. Sure there were a few mistakes along the way, but mostly Hoss was respected for his casual but good-natured attitude and friendly outlook on life.  
  
Tom felt a genuine connect with a man like Hoss because he too hadn't really taken to getting any schooling in life and had let life lead him along for most of his journey. Only time would tell where he was headed next.  
  
In many ways, Joe now was at a similar stage in his young life as Adam had been before he went away to college. Always wanting to please his father and get the men to notice him for his own abilities. There was still quite a way to go for the youngest member of the Cartwright family, but in many ways Joe had already found his confidence and self-assurance qualities much earlier than most gave him credit for.  
  
"I say we try and start taking some of these rotary arms apart before Pa gets back Tom," Joe suggested. "We have plenty of time and there is two of us. We haven't got anything much better to do until he gets back anyway."  
  
"Yep, the sooner we get it done young Cartwright, the sooner we will be finished, that's my belief," Tom replied and now rolled up his sleeves ready to start work.  
  
Joe now removed his gun belt and laid it inside his hat on a table. After seeing the amount of grease and oil that his father had managed to get on his hands, he too rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and prepared to give Tom a hand.  
  
"You undo the nut Joe and I will try and pull the arm off towards me," Tom now instructed. "Once I get it over the shaft far enough we can both pull it off together and lean it over against one of the walls there until your Pa gets back with the wagon to load it into."  
  
Joe nodded in agreement to the roughly made out plan of disassembly. He now picked up a large wrench and placed the correct end around the nut that held the rotary arm in place on the buzz saw.  
  
At first it was tough going and it didn't look as though the nut was going to move at all anytime soon. Joe pushed and pushed, trying to get his force to allow the nut to come loose. After a few minutes with no result, he paused briefly and took a break from the strenuous effort  
  
"Boy this nut is tighter than ever and it doesn't want to come off," Joe said with a little annoyance in his voice.  
  
"Steady Joe, take it easy, it will come, just keep trying," Tom said as he tried to let the young man put some of his unspent frustrations into the handle of the wrench.  
  
Tom had always been told about Joe's willingness to temper quick and let loose with words or his fists when it wasn't needed. He had even witnessed some of that untapped anger when Joe had been riled at one of his brothers, Adam or Hoss.  
  
Tom always believed though that all Joe needed was someone to talk to him in a calm voice when he got mad and talk him through his frustration and anger rather than let him put it into actions or words. Understanding and patience was a key ingredient in it all and he often shared plenty of it with Joe and the other members of the Cartwright family.  
  
Joe gave Tom a quick grin at the man's casualness to the whole thing. Tom never seemed to get ticked off at anything Joe told himself. He then put the wrench back on the nut and took a deep breath before continuing his efforts.  
  
On the second attempt, Joe gritted his teeth and spread his legs a little further apart to give him more leverage. It worked and Joe smiled in relief as the nut moved about a quarter of an inch. A few more harsh turns of the wrench and the nut was fully loosened enough for Tom to pull the rotary arm forward on the protruding shaft.  
  
Joe now put the tool down as he and Tom put their both hands on either side of the large piece of machinery and prepared to lift it out of the housing.  
  
"Ready Joe?" Tom asked as he got himself ready to support the heavy weight using his legs and back for solid support.  
  
"Ready," Joe said in reply and he too prepared to take the weight of the large arm.  
  
Everything was going according to plan as the two of them started inching the arm over the large shaft. What they were not prepared for was the sudden movement of the buzz saw blade that was held a few inches back from the arm.  
  
In a split second, the buzz saw blade was sliding back towards the two men without any sort of barrier to halt it's separation from the main part of the saw table.  
  
"Look out Tom!" Joe shouted as he could see the blade starting to come towards him. Instinctively he let go of the rotary arm and in fright took a step back to avoid the edge of the blade.  
  
Tom had heeded the warning, but with Joe letting go so suddenly on the other end, Tom's release of the rotary arm came a second too late. Before there was any time to react, the blade's serrated teeth caught Tom's right forearm just below the elbow.  
  
In a matter of seconds, Tom had collapsed to the floor and was shouting out in agony at the pain that was coursing through his arm.  
  
Because the rotary arm was still over the shaft, this prevented the blade from coming off any further and avoided the potential additional threat to Joe and the already injured Tom.  
  
Joe now jumped to the side of his friend. To his horror he could see a large amount of blood pooling around the limb and beside Tom. It was difficult to see at this stage how much damage had been caused by the blade or see the wound itself.  
  
"Wait here Tom, I will be back in a second," Joe said as he hurriedly got to his feet and ran towards a table that contained a few scraps of fabric. He was in luck today and was able to find a fairly large piece that was made of a thicker material.  
  
Joe ran back to Tom who was now very pale due to the amount of blood loss he had sustained in such a short space of time. He folded the fabric up into a thick pad and now pressed it firmly against the area where the blood seemed to be coming from.  
  
After a few minutes of constant pressure, Joe could see the blood beginning to soak through the material underneath his hand. He knew that he didn't have much of as choice about keeping the makeshift bandage in place. He couldn't get up to replace it with another piece of fabric from the table for fear of Tom loosing any more blood.  
  
"Tom can you hear me?" Joe asked, his voice sounding a little panicked.  
  
Joe looked behind him towards the door of the timber yard in hope that somebody would soon be coming to help. He had to get the man to medical attention but had no means other than his own horses of doing that. He doubted that he would be able to keep the bandage of the man's arm sufficiently enough for the trip back to Virginia City.  
  
"J-Jo-e .....," came the whispered voice from Tom's lips. The man's colour was not very encouraging and his voice sounded laboured and raspy.  
  
"Tom," Joe whispered back, not daring to ask any further questions. There was a mask of pain on the man's face and his lips had become a line pale line due to the tautness of the skin on his face.  
  
"W-water.. p-p-please...," the man begged, hoping that some sort of relief would come from even a mouthful of liquid.  
  
Joe heard the man's request but hesitated a moment whether he should get the canteen still tied to his horse Cochise or not. If he didn't the man would be thirsty and might die from no water. If he did go then the wound would be free to start bleeding heavily again before any medical help could be sought.  
  
"W-water.....," he asked again, Tom not bothering or having the strength to continue the question.  
  
Joe couldn't deny the man's second request and with real apprehension in his mind, got to his feet shakily, not letting go of the blood-soaked wad of material until the last second, ran to Cochise and yanked the cord that held it securely to his saddle. The strap broke at the sudden force behind the pulling and allowed the canteen to tumble awkwardly into Joe's outstretched hand.  
  
Joe looked down with apprehension at the blood soaked cloth he had left over the wound as shuddered in relief to see it still mostly in place. The pain had Tom writhing around at various and unpredictable intervals but the cloth seemed to have adhered slightly due to the large patch of blood despite the movement.  
  
"I'm back Tom," Joe said as he fell to his knees and tried to unscrew the lid off the canteen. Joe ran the first few drops of water over his open hand and winced slightly at the warm temperature. It wouldn't be much relief for Tom but some he supposed.  
  
"Help will be here very soon Tom," Joe said, trying to ease his friend's suffering with nothing but hollow words. Truth was Joe wasn't sure when his father would be back with the buckboard. Ben probably was only half-way back to the ranch at most by now.  
  
Joe looked down at Tom's face, trying to use the man's facial expressions as some sort of crude gauge as to how the man was doing. And if the expressions were anything to go by, Joe could already tell that the man wasn't doing so great. His eyes were only half-open and his features when not taunt with pain were slack and pale from the blood loss and the on-set of shock.  
  
Joe had known from discussions with Doctor Paul Martin over the years that in most serious accidents, shock was a major contributor to deaths. Shock was often hard to notice at first and even when it was detected, there wasn't a whole lot somebody could do to prevent it happening. Usually the patient's blood pressure would drop along with the body temperature.  
  
Joe even contemplated the risk of him leaving Tom alone to go and get help quickly on Cochise, but that idea was soon ruled out. Tom would certainly be dead from blood loss before he managed to get back with help. He had to try and help for as long as was necessary until the help came to him and Tom.  
  
At one point, Joe's curiosity got the better of him about how bad the damage was to Tom's arm. He looked at Tom and saw the man was somewhere between unconsciousness and awake. On the plateau that decided life and death.  
  
The man didn't even budge as Joe tried to see if the bleeding had subsided at all. The temporary bandages were already blood-soaked and crimson in colour, so it was fairly hard to tell if the bleeding had even slowed at all.  
  
Joe cautiously lifted one corner of the bandage near him and looked underneath. Usually Joe wasn't too squeamish around blood or such things. He had seen men shot to death before and had seen people die of sickness and fever. He had even been forced to put down the odd cow of calf that was suffering from injury.  
  
But no matter what he had seen in the past, he couldn't have prepared himself enough for the site of Tom's badly damaged limb. The arm was almost severed all the way through, with bone and muscle fibre clearly visible through the bloody mesh that was still attached to the flesh.  
  
Strong will power and the need to stay by his friend at a desperate time was the only thing stopping Joe from running outside and retching out the insides of his stomach. He hurriedly recovered the arm with the bandages and looked over in fear that Tom might have been aware of how hurt he was. Thankfully for Joe though, Tom was still in a state of semi-consciousness.  
  
Joe sat with a stoic expression in his face, giving the almost unconscious man sips of tepid water as necessary and trying to put as much pressure over the wound as possible to stop the bleeding without causing Tom any unnecessary pain. Lord knows that the man was already experiencing more that he should have to.  
  
Joe could still see the images in his mind without looking down at the man's arm. He gave a silent prayer to God that help would soon arrive before it was all to late for a good and decent man such as Tom.  
  
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****  
  
Back at the Ponderosa, whilst Ben's trip had not been a slow one, he had arrived back at the yard to the ranch without any incident. Unaware of the harrowing torment that Tom was currently experiencing or what Joe was being forced to watch the man endure.  
  
To Ben's surprise and relief, both Adam and Hoss had been in the barn when he went to start organising the buckboard to retrieve the broken parts from the timber yard.  
  
"What are you two doing here this early?" Ben asked them as he walked into the barn.  
  
"We just got here ourselves Pa," Hoss answered for both him and his older brother. "We got finished a little earlier that we thought."  
  
"That's good then, if you are not too busy I could really use both of you to help me take this buckboard back to the timberyard. When we get there we will have Joe and Tom to help us remove some of the parts from two of the main saws and bring them into Virginia City. I want to get the blacksmith to take a look and see if he can repair any of them before I am forced to order from San Francisco."  
  
"Order from San Francisco," Adam voiced, "That will cut a lot of time off our schedule."  
  
"That's what Joe was worried about just a short while ago when I told him what needed to be done," Ben replied, a little smile coming to his lips about just how much alike his sons thought about things from time to time without even knowing it.  
  
"Joe back at the timber yard then," Hoss enquired, knowing that Joe had planned to travel to the north pastures earlier in the day after he left the house. He was pleased to hear that the fencing must have been fixed enough to Joe's satisfaction for him to already be at the timber yard.  
  
"Yes, he was thinking he could get out of work a little earlier today until I asked him to help with the disassembly," Ben replied with a smirk.  
  
"Come on then, we had better give you a hand to take the buckboard back and be there in person to disappoint little brother," Adam commented.  
  
"After today I just might grant his request you now," Ben now said upon reflection. "He has been working particularly hard over the last few weeks. We all have been and with the mill only going to be working at half capacity and most of the fencing being repaired, I might just let him have a night in town tomorrow night."  
  
"How come he twists your arm just the right way Pa?" Adam asked good- naturedly.  
  
"He doesn't twist my arm anymore than you two do," Ben said trying to point out that he treated all of his sons equally. There was no doubt in anybody's mind, least of all that Joe had a special place in Ben's heart.  
  
There were times when just the right look would make Ben break out in laughter or make that Cartwright heart shatter into a million pieces at the sight of a solitary tear running down the young handsome face.  
  
Ben loved Adam and Hoss dearly too, but Joe was the one who continually caused the most worry about coming home late from a night in town or what might happen out on the trail miles from anywhere. There was just something Joe's energy and enthusiasm that made him having something to look forward at the end of the day worth living for.  
  
"Oh sure he doesn't Pa," Hoss said with a air of disbelief. "We know that's right don't we Adam." he added with a jibe.  
  
"Every single day Hoss, every single day," Adam said as he started leading the two wagon horses out of their stalls.  
  
Once the buckboard was ready, the trio started back towards the timber yard. It had been about an hour since Ben had left Joe and Tom alone.  
  
Ben and Adam rode their own horses Buck and Sport whilst Hoss had opted to leave Chubb behind and drive the team and the wagon.  
  
****************************************************************************  
***********  
  
Back at the timber yard, Joe was becoming more and more concerned about the lack of response that he was trying to encourage from Tom. He tried his best not to jostle or move the man too much, but he needed to make sure that the man didn't expire before help could arrive.  
  
The water canteen was almost empty now and the tepid contents seemed to have done very little to relieve Tom's pain and suffering. The bandages were now soaked with blood and were beyond the point of being of much assistance except stem the flow somewhat.  
  
Joe's own clothes were now covered in blood from chest height all the way down to the knees on his trousers. He had managed to pull Tom's head onto his lap to try and give the man a little cushioning and comfort behind his head. Something he remembered Doc Martin telling him that the head should be higher than the feet if someone was going into or already in shock after an accident.  
  
Joe could use a drink of water himself about now but he didn't dare drink any of the diminishing liquid he had beside him. There were only a few more mouthfuls left and he wouldn't give himself one ounce of relief when Tom was a long way from receiving any.  
  
He found it hard to gauge how much time had passed since his father left to return to the Ponderosa. Had it been minutes or hours? He couldn't be sure but was forced to endure what seemed like an eternity for someone to come and help.  
  
As Hoss and the others neared the timber yard, at first there was nothing out of the ordinary to alert them of the devastating sight that would greet them once inside.  
  
Adam was the first to note how quite the yard seemed. He was aware that there was only supposed to be only Joe and Tom there at present, but still the closer they got, the more uneasy he found himself becoming. He couldn't quite put his finger on it at the moment.  
  
The curiosity and the unrelenting silence made Adam pick up the pace a little on his horse and he was now trotting into the yard rather than just walking at normal pace.  
  
"Joe are you in here?" Adam said as he tethered his horse beside Cochise. He felt the neck of Cochise in an attempt to dispel his notion that something was wrong. The animal was cool to the touch so Joe hadn't been riding anywhere over the past half an hour or so.  
  
Ben was now dismounting himself from Buck and had begun to note the uneasy look on his eldest son's face. "Joe, Tom?" he found himself calling out after Adam.  
  
At first there was no response to their voices. This made them even more fearful that something had occurred since Ben's departure. The three of them now remained totally silent, listening for any signs of Joe and Tom in the yard.  
  
Hoss stopped the buckboard just outside the door to the saw mill so it wouldn't be such a long distance to carrying the heavy parts that needed repairing.  
  
"I'm in here Pa, hurry quick!" came the quiet voice to their calls. It was at that moment that Ben and his sons first though there must have been something wrong with Joe himself. When they entered the saw-mill building in a rush to his frightened voice, they were shocked and alarmed at the blood they could see smeared over his clothes and hands.  
  
"Joe are you alright son?" Ben said as he ran towards Joe.  
  
It was only now that he noted the prone and very unresponsive form of Tom laying across Joe's legs. Ben looked into the eyes of his son and saw only fear and sadness. Joe's face was unnaturally pale but it was eyes that held Ben's attention the most. They spoke of what the boy had witnessed that had left his memory with painful images and shocking scenes.  
  
"What happened here son?" Ben asked gently, all to well aware of Joe's delicate state. It was clear to him that both Joe and Tom needed attention. Adam and Hoss were now kneeling with their father, they too stunned by the amount of blood they could see over their friend Tom and brother Joe.  
  
"The saw fell towards us, I let go and yelled out to Tom to watch out, but he couldn't let go quick enough Pa," Joe said as his voice began to crack at the reliving of the nightmare.  
  
"The blade of the saw hit his arm Pa, it's real bad. I don't know if he is going to.....," Joe continued, the tears now welling in his eyes and unable to say the words that were clearly on his lips. He couldn't bring himself to say the words that Tom might die or already be dead.  
  
"Pa why don't you take care of Joe while Hoss and I take care of Tom. He needs to have that arm wrapped as tight as possible and then we can take him back to Virginia City to Doc Martin," Adam suggested as he tried to take charge of the frayed situation.  
  
Ben nodded his head, grateful for the fact that his other two sons had indeed accompanied him back to the timber yard. He moved to the side slightly so that Adam and Hoss could manoeuvre Tom's inert form enough to lift him from Joe's legs.  
  
"How long ago did this happen Joe?" Ben now asked in a soft voice. He needed to gauge how long Joe had been alone with Tom after the accident. There was no telling what sort of affect an accident of this type might have on a young man of Joe's age.  
  
"It happened not long after you left Pa," Joe admitted, his bottom lip trembling. Joe had always prided himself on trying to act like a man over the last year or so. Right now though his emotions were running too deep and raw. The memories were too fresh in his mind.  
  
Whilst Ben sat with Joe on the floor for a few minutes, Adam tried to assess what help Joe had already tried to give Tom after the accident. He noted the bloody- stained bandages and immediately sent Hoss off to look for other pieces of fabric around the building that might be able to be used.  
  
Adam picked up the water canteen he saw laying beside Joe's foot. He recognized it as his brother's and shook the bottle to see how much remained inside. When he noted the almost empty contents, he was thankful that Joe had thought to give the bleeding man as much water as possible. It was the only way the body could try and make up for the large amount of loss.  
  
Adam looked over at Joe and noted the fear and strain on the younger man's face. He knew that what Joe needed most now apart from his father and brother was reassurance that what he had tried to do at least helped some if not saved the man's life.  
  
"You did good Joe, you really did," Adam said. Hoss was now returning with a large sheet he had found and immediately began tearing it into long thin strips.  
These he now started wrapping carefully with the assistance of Hoss over the blood-stained ones and around the wounded arm.  
  
A few mumbled words and grunts of pain from Tom alerted them to the fact of just how much pain the man must have been in right now. Adam was unable to see the extent of the injury for the time being. He did not dare remove the bandages Joe had already applied.  
  
"It's bad Adam, real bad," Joe voiced to his brother, as he watched his two brothers dress the wound as best they could for now. Joe's face turned a shade paler at the memory of the mess he had seen left of the man's arm.  
  
Ben thought for a moment that his son would be physically sick or might pass out he was so pale. He knew that what Joe must have seen had been very horrific and he didn't quite know the words to say to his son that would make everything seem alright.  
  
"You meet us back at the house Pa," Adam now said, noting his brother's sickly appearance. The boy had suddenly gone all quiet and withdrawn into himself and that wasn't a very good sign for someone like Joe.  
  
"I know he is probably going to be a long time in attending to Tom, but would you ask Paul to stop by later on this evening if at all possible. I think we are going to need him too," Ben noted as he looked down at Joe who was now leaning against him for both physical and emotional support.  
  
Joe didn't even move very much as Adam and Hoss began moving Tom towards the waiting wagon. At one point he looked up at what they were doing but it was like watching something in slow motion. He couldn't even be really sure that was he was seeing was really happening at the moment.  
  
Hoss and Adam made sure that they took very slow and steady steps towards the wagon with their friend Tom. The man had once again moaned in deep pain from even the slightest movement but had once again surrendered to the pull of unconsciousness.  
  
The back of the wagon was already lowered so that they could load Tom in without being forced to lift him any higher than necessary. There was a few more spare sheets that Hoss had found in addition to the one they had torn into strips. These would serve as the only form of crude comfort on the long, slow journey back to Virginia City.  
  
Ben and Joe both watched the wagon until they could only see the cloud of dust left behind in it's wake. Ben now turned his attention to his remaining son and the one who needed him most at the moment.  
  
Joe sat in a trance like state for a further few seconds. He was lost somewhere in his own thoughts and it took a gentle shake of his shoulder for him to look up and realise that his father had been trying to talk to him.  
  
"What did you say Pa?" Joe asked in a voice that tried to mask the mountain of emotions running through his body at the moment.  
  
"Come on son, there's nothing more we can do here today. Let's get you home and out of those soiled clothes," Ben now suggested, trying to direct his son's mind to more mundane matters.  
  
It was only now that Joe truly drank in the extent of the blood on his shirt and pants. He knew that Tom had lost an awful lot of blood. He had spent the best part of an hour trying to stop it from the man's arm. But until now he never even thought about it being there as a reminder.  
  
"There is a lot of it isn't there?" Joe said, a statement rather than a question to his father. His mind seemed still to be a little vague and his actions were a little too lethargic for Ben's liking.  
  
Joe now tried to pull himself to his feet in order for him and his father to begin the journey back to the Ponderosa. The first attempt was unsuccessful, as was a half-hearted second one.  
  
Ben used a steading hand to help his son to stand upright, although with the current paleness of his face, he was once again worried that his son might not remain so for very long.  
  
"Come on Joe," Ben said in a calm, soothing voice. The effect of the deepness of his voice seemed to wash over Joe like a wave, the young man not even giving the slightest bit of resistance as he was helped to walk to his waiting mount.  
  
Ben was even reluctant at first to allow the young man to ride on his own. Joe's complexion was awfully pasty and Ben couldn't be sure that he wasn't suffering some minor symptoms of shock at present.  
  
Despite his fatherly concern, Ben was also wary of trying to smother the boy with his worry and concern like he may have done with a much younger Joseph.  
  
Joe was at an age where he was trying to prove himself not just other, but his family as well, probably more than even the people in Virginia City.  
  
Ben's worry wasn't without basis though as he helped his son from arm's length towards Cochise. The young man's gait was unsteady to say the least and there was a definite faulting to his steps.  
  
"You feel okay Joe?" Ben now asking an obvious question.  
  
"Yeah Pa, just a little giddy after seeing all the blood I suppose," Joe admitted. His voice though spoke of being a little more than dizzy. Ben had no doubt in his mind that his son was a 'little dizzy' from what he had seen plus a whole range of mixed emotions right now.  
  
Joe made it to his horse without any drama, but found himself pausing briefly and holding desperately onto the saddle horn as he leaned heavily into his horse to prevent his father from gauging just how "giddy" he was. May it was the hot weather too he told himself, remembering how warm it had become sitting on the floor with Tom until help arrived.  
  
Ben wasn't fooled in the slightest though and knew he would need to keep more than a good eye on his youngest son on the ride back to the ranch.  
  
Joe mounted slowly and a little stiffly, not quite the catapult into the saddle that his horse was used to first thing in the morning. The youth was normally so vibrant and full of life that even his four-legged friend seemed to pick up on the downcast appearance and the lack of energy from the rider on her back.  
  
Ben had told himself that he and Joe would take all the time they needed to ride back. Hoss and Adam wouldn't be back for a few hours at the earliest and there was nothing else to rush back to except chores that probably would have to wait until morning.  
  
Joe was in no condition to ride hard and fast today anyway. His back was slumped and his posture gave away his feelings entirely as Ben watched his son from behind. The shoulders although hunched, were also a little tight from tension, probably the weight of the guilt he was carrying with himself at the moment over the accident.  
  
Joe never engaged his father in conversation. The two rode in silence, Joe never looking once from side to side at the terrain they were travelling in. His eyes remained downcast towards his saddle and he was relying heavily on his horse's knowledge to get him home. He just wanted his mind blank. Not to think, not to talk, not to do anything. He wanted to believe that none of this had really happened.  
  
When Joe and his father eventually did ride into the yard at the Ponderosa, a few hands were surprised to see both of them in such a state. A few of them were almost ready to run to their boss's aid in case he needed help in getting Joe down from his horse when they spotted the large blood stain on the young man's shirt.  
  
A quick grateful but warning gesture from his hand though, made them keep their distance. His expression was such that they knew he would let them know what had happened later on. Right now Ben had to focus his attention on Joe and get him into the house and cleaned up.  
  
One of the hands did come forward now and offer to put the horses up and give them both a good rub down. When Joe didn't object to somebody else seeing to his horse, Ben knew that it was a sign of just how dejected and depressed Joe was feeling right now. Normally on any other given day Joe would never allow somebody else to care for his horse unless he was injured.  
  
Joe let Cochise's reins fall and started walking towards the homestead as if it was the end of another long, hard day. Today though would be unlike no other in Joe's mind for quite some time to come.  
  
Joe opened the front door to the home and started unbuckling his gun belt. His motions were autonomous and lacked any thought about them. It was just something he did everyday of his life for the last few years, right now with his mind deeply concentrating on other matters  
  
Hop Sing came out to the living room from his domain in the kitchen and was about to greet the family home when he spotted the condition of Joe's clothing. All at once he went off into a worry-filled tirade of words, his questions directed at Joe about what had happened to him and wanting to know why he was coming home in such a state.  
  
But today Joe just looked at the little Cantonese man with an uninterested look on his face and then ignored the questions all together as he headed for the staircase and his bedroom.  
  
"Hop Sing," Ben said in a normal voice, hoping to explain to the man what had happened to his favourite member of the family. Hop Sing continued his tirade though, not hearing Ben talking to him. The tirade soon switched from English to Cantonese as the questions now went from Joe back to himself and other members of the family and how they had allowed this to happen to number three son. Ben had repeated the man's name twice more when he came to the conclusion he wasn't being taken any notice of.  
  
"HOP SING" Ben now bellowed in his best scolding voice. The one often kept for his youngest son upon return from a very late night in Virginia City as we waited up into the wee hours of the morning.  
  
It had the desired effect though as the little man just about jumped out of his skin at Ben's loud shout. It was Hop Sing's turn to shout back now in response to his employer's  
  
"Why you yell at Hop Sing? Hop Sing see blood all over Lil Joe. Hop Sing want to know what happen. No need to shout. Hop Sing just beside you - ask nicely and Hop Sing talk to you," he said in an indignant voice before repeating most of the same accusations in his own tongue.  
  
"Hop Sing I yelled at you because I have already tried to get your attention three times," Ben said in an exasperated voice as he rolled his eyes slightly at the Little Cantonese man's antics. He knew that Hop Sing was worried about Joe.  
  
"There was an accident at the timber yard today. Tom Withers was badly injured. Adam and Hoss have taken him by wagon to Virginia City. Joe was there when the accident first happened and it was some time before the boys and I got there. The blood you see on his shirt belongs to Tom Withers," Ben now said, trying to get the explanation out before Hop Sing could interrupt him.  
  
"Joe is very upset by what happened. He is a little nauseous from the sight of all that blood I think, and apart from that I think he is beginning to blame himself or what happened. I wasn't there when it happened so I didn't see it. Joe told us all when we eventually got there," Ben now continued.  
  
"Could you please get a nice hot bath ready for Joe in the bathhouse. I want him to get out of those blood-stained clothes as quickly as possible. It is not going to help him forget what happened or forgive himself if he still sees the accident," Ben asked.  
  
"Hop Sing sorry, not know, but worried when see Lil Joe with blood. Thought Joe hurt. Joe not hurt on outside but must be very hurt inside. Hop Sing get bath ready chop chop," the little man said and scurried away through the kitchen to the bathroom to do exactly what was asked of him.  
  
Ben couldn't help but agree with the servant's words though. Yes Hop Sing I think Joe is hurting inside. Very much. I just hope we can make it alright again for Joe.  
  
****************************************************************************  
****  
  
Whilst Ben and Hop Sing were having their discussion downstairs, upstairs there was a totally different scenario being played out.  
  
When Joe first entered his room all he had wanted to do was bury his head under the soft pillow on his bed and try to forget everything that had happened that day. A quick look down at his clothes though and he knew that he wouldn't be able to do that just yet.  
  
Instead he went over to the open window in his room and let the hot breeze hit him as he stood there trying to make sense of actions that were out of his control. The air was sultry and dry, much how Joe felt inside right at this very moment.  
  
Joe lost track of time as he became immersed in his own thoughts by the window. He didn't know whether it had only been five minutes or a couple of hours, when he felt a light tap on his shoulder.  
  
Joe turned around and wasn't surprised to see his father looking worriedly back at him. He couldn't blame the look on his face though, Joe didn't have any determination in him to make it look as if everything was alright at the moment.  
  
"How are you doing son?" Ben found himself asking. There wasn't any other way of putting the question, no matter how it sounded.  
  
"I don't know Pa, I really didn't know," Joe replied blandly, and nothing could be further from the truth. He didn't really have answer to afford to his father.  
  
"Why don't you go and have that bath that Hop Sing is getting ready downstairs. By the time you get out of those stained clothes and get out, you will feel a whole lot more refreshed and Adam and Hoss might be back by then with some good news about Tom," Ben suggested.  
  
"What am I supposed to do Pa, wash away all the guilt I have?" Joe asked bitterly.  
  
"You shouldn't need to feel guilty son, what happened at the timber yard today was an accident and nothing more than that," Ben now said trying to reassured his son.  
  
"But I do Pa, I can't help it. Why did it have to be Tom that got hurt so bad. I was there too. Why didn't it happen to me and not him? Why him Pa?" Joe asked as he allowed his emotions to get the better of him.  
  
"I don't know why Tom was the one to get hurt Joe, I can't explain that to you. I can't explain why these sorts of accidents happen," Ben said knowing that Joe's mood was darkening by the minute and the boy seemed to becoming more and more caught up with the guilt that he did have.  
  
"It should have been me that got hurt today, at least I could make some sort of sense out of it," Joe said as he now walked away from the window, trying to avoid the topic of conversation all together as well as his father.  
  
Ben didn't say anything further about Joe's comment. He shuddered to think of what might have happened if Joe was right and it was his youngest son that was taken to Virginia City by wagon to be tendered by Doc Martin. He had some things to be truly grateful for.  
  
Joe had gone out of his room, down the staircase and out to the bathhouse without saying a word to Hop Sing. The little Cantonese man had tried to say something to him about the bath being ready, but Joe wasn't listening to anybody at the moment except the thoughts in his own head.  
  
Hop Sing, being the usual diligent person he was though had made sure that all the essential items were left in the bath house for Joe. He had left fresh towels and lots of natural smelling soaps to invade Joe's senses and try and relax his tense body.  
  
He even left some carefully dried lavender leaves on a shelf in the room and sprinkled some of them in water so they could infuse with the hot water and steam. Lavender was well known as a relaxant and often used by Hop Sing.  
  
Joe shut the door behind him and stood behind the door for a moment, trying to let the steam work to alleviate the tension that he felt. He started to take off his clothes, but as he did so, he couldn't avoid the blood stain that stood out on stark contrast.  
  
Frustration got the better of him and he ended up ripping several of the buttons off the bottom of the shirt. The shirt was hardly going to be used again anyway he told himself. The blood had even soaked into the waist band of his trousers.  
  
"This is Tom's blood," Joe reminded himself. The stains were dry now, but the images of fresh blood were all still too real for him at the moment. He still didn't know how Tom was.  
  
Had he made it into town to be patched up by Doc Martin? Did he loose anymore blood on the way? Joe didn't think the man could have afforded to loose too much more. How was Doc Martin going to even help the man once he got there? From what Joe had been forced to observe, the injury itself was severe and he didn't know if Paul had the expertise.  
  
Joe was now fully undressed and carefully eased himself into the steaming hot water. At first his muscles had tensed up even more to the heat, but then started to relax as the water began it's healing power and allowed the muscles to become subtle and smooth.  
  
Joe lay his head back against the rim of the bath tub and closed his eyes while he allowed his body to soak in the hot water and let the steam surround him.  
  
Back inside the house, Ben was talking to Hop Sing about Joe's words back in his room and his moody disposition. Hop Sing tried to be positive and told the Patriarch to give his son some time to think about what happened. Hop Sing promised to cook a hearty meal for all and have it served a little earlier this evening, hoping that Joe might take the opportunity of an earlier night to get some rest after such a harrowing ordeal.  
  
At some point whilst he was still soaking in the water, Joe distinctly heard the sound of a wagon coming along the road outside. He hurriedly got out of the tub and donned on the clothes Hop Sing had left. He hadn't bothered to dry himself properly and thus presented himself at the front door to greet his returning brothers, dressed in tan trousers, a wet unbuttoned shirt on his back and tussled, damp hair hanging over his forehead.  
  
Ben looked at this son and normally would not have approved of such a hurried exit from the bath house, especially still dripping wet. Today however, he knew that his son's mind was on other more important things and knew that the boy's rush had been to hear about Tom.  
  
"Hey little brother, you look like a drowned rat," Hoss said, trying to interject a little humour into what felt like an awkward moment.  
  
"Your supposed to take a bath without your clothes Joe," Adam now said in fun, trying to lessen the blow for his brother that he knew was coming.  
  
"Don't worry about me, tell me about Tom. Is he alright? Did he make it to Virginia City okay? Joe asked all at once.  
  
"Now Joe, I know you are anxious for news about Tom, but how about we let your brothers get inside the house first and then they can tell us all? Let's move over to the settee," Ben suggested. Joe did as he was asked, but was still clad in his wet shirt and trousers and had no intention of attending to anything else until he heard what Adam and Hoss had to say.  
  
"Tom made it to town okay Joe," Adam now explained. Hoss was happy enough to let his older brother tell the story. After what he had seen of Tom's injuries as they went to Doc Martin, he couldn't help but think that what Joe had been forced to deal with had been a lot worse.  
  
"Then he is still alive then?" Joe said, a glimmer of hope for the man in his voice.  
  
"Yes he is still alive, he has lost a lot of blood though," Adam now commented, looking briefly at his father before continuing. Joe had been too distracted by his own thoughts to see the looks exchanged between father and son. He knew that Tom had bleed a lot, his clothes out in the bath house were a reminder of that.  
  
"What does Paul think Adam?" Ben asked for his son.  
  
"Paul thinks he will be okay," Adam said and paused briefly to gauge the reaction of such news on Joe's face. "He is trying to build up the man's strength again with lots of sugar and salt in his water. Paul says Tom needs as much liquid as possible at the moment to restore and try and make up for what was lost."  
  
Joe seemed to be getting impatience with every new word that Adam spoke. Fine so the man had to make up some blood that he had lost, but that still didn't answer Joe's burning question.  
  
"Will you get to the important parts Adam!" Joe said in a disgruntled voice. He no longer had the patience or the will to put up with one of his brother's long explanations. "Let you brother say it in his own words Joseph," Ben now said, trying to quell the burning fire within this son that threatened to boil over. But Joe couldn't sit still very long waiting and now found himself get up and beginning to pace back and forth behind the settee impatiently.  
  
"Paul thinks he will be okay," Adam said, a hidden lump forming at the top of this throat as he knew that he was only giving a partial explanation to his younger brother. Hoss knew the whole truth as well but both erred on the side of caution as their brother's current agitated state and kept part of what they knew to themselves for the time being.  
  
A brief glance once again from Adam to his father, told Ben that there was more than Adam was telling but he would wait until later to reveal fully what he and Hoss knew of the situation.  
  
"Paul's coming out later on this evening after he finishes. You can get him to explain Tom's injuries a little better than I can and he can probably give you a better prognosis of his recovery by then," Adam now said.  
  
"Why is Paul coming out here?" Joe now asked, not having heard his father ask for the doctor's presence at the ranch once he was finished tending to Tom. From the look of Joe's state of mind at the moment, Ben was rather glad that he had asked Paul to come. He could sure use the physicians advice at the moment on how much effect this accident and the news of Tom's injuries would have on his son.  
  
Ben was trying to find the words to explain to his son about why Paul was asked to come that wouldn't have Joe going off in a fit of anger about being treated like an invalid. Hop Sing was the one who can to his rescue on this occasion though as the little oriental servant came bustling into the living room announcing that supper was ready.  
  
"And I am as hungry as a bear too Hop Sing," Hoss said with delight at the mention of food on the table. He was also hoping to take Joe's mind off the visit from the doctor.  
  
Joe seemed to let the question slide for now as he too headed across the room towards the dining room table. He sat down and looked at the fully laden table that Hop Sing had prepared.  
  
Joe's mask like expression on the outside though hid his true thoughts and feelings inside. Food was the last thing on his mind at the moment. His stomach was twisting and churning in knots still over the accident and food just didn't sound very appetising.  
  
He could feel and see the eyes of his family on him and his empty plate. He was tempted just to excuse himself from the table and head to the living room again or his own room. However just to keep his father from worrying even more about him and his state of mind, Joe put a small amount of meat and vegetables on his plate.  
  
Happy enough to see some sort of nourishment on his plate, the other family members resumed their evening meal. Joe used a fork to stab aimlessly at a stray pea occasionally and used the tip of his knife to prod at the slice of beef that lay in front of him. For the most part though, he just didn't feel very much like eating.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Joe had succeeded in eating no more off his meal and instead drained his coffee cup and used the napkin to wipe his hands before excusing himself from the table and walking over to the settee.  
  
Once in the living room, he lay himself fully down on the settee and lay back against the cushioning arm rest, laying his arm across his eyes as if trying to shield the light from them. He gave a tired sounding sigh and appeared to be trying to go to sleep.  
  
"He didn't eat a darn thing off his plate," Hoss whispered to his father and brother whilst looking across the room as his younger brother's out- stretched form.  
  
"Shouldn't we get him to go up to his own room and bed Pa?" Adam asked, a little concerned for his brother's obvious negative attitude.  
  
"No, leave him where he is. It will be a lot more casual for Paul to take a look at him down here rather than have him kicking and fighting through a series of questions if he were sound asleep and woken up in his bed," Ben replied.  
  
"He is not taking this accident very well Pa is he?" Adam commented.  
  
"No and he blames himself for the whole thing," Ben responded, whispering the conversation he and Joe had earlier about why the accident had not happened to him. Hoss had paled slightly at the thought that Joe wondered why he had been spared. Like his father, Hoss couldn't have imagined how they all would have reacted if the person laying in Doc Martin's right now was Joe rather than Tom.  
  
For another ten minutes or so, the conversation at the table turned to other matters on the ranch. Joe seemed to be at least half-dozing on the settee, so his family respected his need to rest and allowed him the silence to do so.  
  
Just as the family where preparing to leave the table, a knock was heard at the front door. Adam approached it swiftly and greeted the person they had been waiting for: Paul Martin.  
  
"Hello Paul," Ben said as he walked forward and shook the doctor's hand. "Glad you could spare the time to come out here," knowing that Tom would be still needing the man's care over quite a few days.  
  
Paul Martin took off his hat as he entered the residence and took note that only three Cartwrights stood at the doorway. He was about to mouth the question of where Joe was until Ben pointed to the settee and the now sleeping form.  
  
Paul nodded his acknowledgement and carefully walked over to the settee so as not to disturb his patient too much. Adam and Hoss had already explained to him who Ben wanted him to look at when he got here. Adam had explained as best he could about how long Joe had been with Tom after the injury and what Joe's state of mind had been when they had left in the wagon.  
  
All in the room had thought that Joe had fallen into a much deeper sleep, but unfortunately he had been able to hear most of what was going on around him.  
  
"I don't need a doctor Pa," he said in a quiet but sombre voice.  
  
"I am not out here to look at you Joseph," Paul said, telling a little bit of a fib. "I am here to let your family know about Tom Withers.  
  
The mention of the name soon had Joe awake and sitting up straight, ready for the answers. Paul smiled inwardly as he knew he could best gauge Joe's emotional state by mostly watching his facial expressions and gestures. It was plain to see right now that the boy was tired, but he would wait a few more minutes before giving Ben a more detailed diagnosis.  
  
"Tom is still alive Joe," Paul said as he took the liberty of sitting down on the other end of the settee. "He is going to be fine in a few weeks, just needs lots of rest and recovery to get back on his feet again."  
  
This information seemed to bring a slight smile to Joe's face but Paul knew it wouldn't last after the next sentence he had to say. "But....." he said and paused.  
  
Paul looked at Joe and then to his family and knew there was no other way of telling them the next bit of news. "But I am afraid Joe, that I had to remove his right arm below the elbow. The damage was far to great and the nerves and muscles were severed beyond repair."  
  
At first Joe seemed to not comprehend what the doctor had just said. Then slowly the words began to seep into the understanding part of his brain. He ignored the part about nerves and muscles. The part that was now echoing in his head said "remove".  
  
"You mean you had to cut off his arm," Joe now said in alarm and backed away from the doctor slightly before getting off the settee altogether and beginning to pace back and forth like he had done earlier in the day. "You cut off his arm," he repeated, not blaming Paul but finding it hard to believe that part of the man's arm had to be completely removed.  
  
Joe felt as though somebody had just punched him in the stomach and he was struggling to get his breath back that been torn from his lungs.  
  
Paul looked at Ben and could see the man's worry on his face about the effect of such devastating news on his son. Paul could see immediately that the fears Adam and Hoss had voiced earlier about Joe's emotional state were now at least coming true.  
  
"I am sorry Joe, but the nerves and muscles just couldn't be saved. They were cut and there was no way for me to make them heal so Tom would have use of his arm again. If I had tried to patch it up, infection may have set in that would slowly travel up the rest of his arm and into his blood stream," Paul said, now explaining the damage further for Joe to understand why he had to do it.  
  
"But you cut off his arm," Joe now said, almost shouting back at Paul. Ben realised that Joe's guilt would now manifest itself and multiply exponentially. It was as is Joe thought the doctor threatened to remove his own arm.  
  
"How will he be able to live now?" Joe asked, directing the question as no one in particular.  
  
"Well after the wound heals, he will be able to resume a relatively normal life Joe. He might not be able to do some of the things he used to do, like work at the timber yard. But there will be lots of other things he can learn to do. He just has to be taught to use his other hand more," Paul explained, hoping that Joe would see the positive side of such a nasty accident.  
  
"But working at the timber yard is all Tom has even known," Joe now said. "He can't do a lot of other kinds of ranch work because of his age now."  
  
"He can be taught though Joe, lots of people have a disability and are rehabilitated back into the community, doing a completely new but useful service," Paul said.  
  
"I don't see why he has to re-learn to do anything at all. This whole accident should have never happened in the first place," Joe shouted.  
  
Before the doctor or his family had a chance to get him to calm down some, Joe headed for the stairs and onto his bedroom. A few seconds later there was a resounding slamming of the timber door.  
  
"What can we do to help him Paul?" Ben asked as the furrow of worried on his brow deepened. "He seems so down on himself and no matter how much you try and explain to him that it was an accident, he still thinks there is something he could have done to prevent it."  
  
"Actually feeling guilty is a part of getting through it Ben," Paul replied as he looked towards the closed bedroom door. "I know it doesn't make much sense right now, but the things that Joe is doing and the emotions he is going through is all perfectly normal for someone who has been through something like this."  
  
"There are a few phases people often go through when they experience a traumatic event and they include mood swings like guilty, angry, sad and denial. Joe might experience any one of these or all of them at any stage or sometimes together in any random selection. There is no real way of knowing what is going to be like from one day to the next for a few days. You and Joe just have to take one day at a time and adjust accordingly depending on how he is coping that particular day," Paul explained.  
  
"But is just being there enough Paul?" Ben asked, feeling a little helpless that they all they could do was sit and watch mostly as Joe was forced to battle his own demons the majority of the time.  
  
"In Joe's case, knowing how his emotions often get the better of him, I'd said yes. For a while he may seem secretive and withdrawn, even angry and bitter, but then after the initial shock wears off some, he will be looking for someone to talk to. To tell how he was feeling then and now and that's when he will probably turn to one of you or all of you to share those feelings with," Paul said.  
  
"Apart from that just observe Ben and keep me informed. Let me know if it starts to affect his sleep pattern too much over the next few nights. He needs to rest at night because his mind will be working overtime when he is awake. If there are any other unusual symptoms beginning to appear, let me know and I will look at him again," Paul said as he prepared to leave.  
  
Sometimes the hardest part of his job of medicine was not knowing the answers to give his patients or their families. Everyone looked to him for advice but sometimes it just wasn't there to give and sometimes the hardest wounds to heal of all were those you couldn't see on the outside.  
  
"I'll come out in a day or two anyway and let him know how Tom is fairing. I'd say sooner or later Tom might be asking to see Joe anyway, for his own piece of mind. Tom is awfully fond of Joe too and this family from what I know," Paul said as he stepped out the front door.  
  
"Goodnight Ben, Adam and Hoss," the doctor said as he got into his buggy and prepared to drive away.  
  
"Good night Paul," Ben said as he waved the doctor off, his thoughts though were of his youngest son up in his room at the moment.  
  
****************************************************************************  
********  
  
"You want me or Adam to go and check on him for you Pa?" Hoss now asked at the two brothers followed their father back into the house. Both of them already knew the answer to the question before it was even uttered.  
  
Ben didn't seem to note the presumption of the comment though "No that's all right, you boys please yourselves for the rest of the night before bed. I will check on Joseph in a few minutes and see if he will talk to me."  
  
Ben paused slightly at the bottom of the staircase and questioned whether he should go up straight away or give his son a little more time on his own to come to terms with what he had been told.  
  
No, even though he knew he had to let the boys sort out some problems for themselves, this sort of problem needed to be shared with others. Otherwise he had no doubt that Joseph would torment himself to no end trying to find a solution that wasn't there to be found or a cause to the accident that just wouldn't come to him.  
  
Ben went to the door but knocked rather lightly in case his son was getting some much needed rest. Somewhat to his relief when the knock went unanswered and he did open up Joe's bedroom door, he could see Joe stretched out on his bed with his back towards the door.  
  
His posture suggested that he wanted to turn away from the rest of the world and have them leave him alone. Ben was having none of that though, aware that Joe's current emotional state was not a healthy one for any drawn out period of time.  
  
"Joe?" Ben whispered as he went inside the room to check if his son was really asleep or just trying to block out everyone.  
  
Walking very softly over to the bed, Ben leaned over slightly so that he could see Joe's face. He had to smile slightly to himself as he did see Joe apparently deeply asleep. The boy's face was smooth and free of any distress or lines at the moment, making him seem much younger than this 19 years.  
  
Ben could relax a little as he saw that his young was indeed getting the rest he needed so much. He now walked around to the other side of the bed, intent on dowsing the low burning lantern on the bedside table. Joe's tiredness must have allowed him to doze off before he had a chance to put it out.  
  
Just before Ben had a chance to douse the flame, a dull ray of light shone from it across his son's sleeping face. It was only now with the added light that he was able to see the faint tear stains that had been left behind, almost invisible.  
  
Ben's heart few a little heavier as he realised that his son was already trying to hide his feelings from the rest of his family and crying in private was part of that secrecy. He didn't want his father or brother's to see a weaker side of him when he had been trying so hard over the last few months to show just how much he had matured.  
  
Ben couldn't resist the urge to smooth back some of the fallen locks of hair over the young man's forehead. He had learned a long time that touch was something Joe often sought when he was feeling saddened or depressed. Would it help this time around?  
  
"I know you feel bad about what happened to Tom today Joe," Ben started to say softly, knowing Joe probably couldn't hear the words. "But you have got to give yourself to time to adjust, like Tom will have to, like we will all have to," he finished off. He too didn't know what Tom Withers was going to do after his arm had healed enough to return to normal life. Maybe normal was too strong a word to use.  
  
"Goodnight Joe," Ben whispered. If he stayed too much longer he risked waking Joe from his much needed slumber.  
  
Ben now walked to the door and was just about to close it behind him when a voice came to him, "Goodnight Pa," Joe responded. He had actually heard every word his father had uttered in the room. He had felt the touch and longed to pour his feelings out to his father if he only knew exactly what they were.  
  
Ben smiled slightly, he had been fooled by his son's appearance of slumber but wasn't cross at Joe for the minor deception. He knew it was part of the phases that Doctor Paul Martin had explained about downstairs earlier. Withdrawal and secrecy seemed to be the first chosen part of Joe's healing process.  
  
As Ben left the room he found both of his older sons Hoss and Adam waiting near the top of the staircase for news about how their younger brother was fairing. Ben raised questioning eyebrows at them thinking that Adam would have been reading in his own room by now and Hoss possibly already asleep. It seemed that they too were concerned by Joe's earlier outburst.  
  
"How's Joe doing Pa?" Hoss asked first.  
  
"I thought he was asleep Hoss, but he was still awake just now," Ben replied. He decided to keep the information about Joe's crying a private thing between father and son. Joe's brothers didn't need to know or be told every little detail.  
  
"Hopefully he will be in a much better frame of mind tomorrow," Adam said, trying to look at the positive side of what had already been a harrowing day. "He is tough Pa. We will help him get through this okay."  
  
"Thanks Adam, I know you and Hoss will be there for your brother when he needs it," Ben responded. "For now though, I say let Joe come to us when he is ready. Give him a little space over the next day or so but keep your eyes on him from a distance."  
  
The three eldest Cartwright's then proceeded to go about their own thing for the remainder of the evening before retiring to bed. Ben fought hard against the urge to check on his son once more as he went to his own room. He had to remind himself to give his son the space that he had spoken of to Hoss and Adam.  
  
If Ben had of been in Joe's room that night, he would have found that sleep was the last thing on his son's mind at the moment. Joe was now laying on his back, still fully clothed except for his boots. His hands were clasped together behind his head on the pillow and his gaze was directed towards the ceiling.  
  
Apart from the images of the day going around and around in his mind, Joe's conscious was also fighting with the turmoil within. How can I just sleep as if nothing is wrong Joe asked himself. He knew that Tom's sleep at the moment was not a natural one. Probably due to the drugs and painkillers that Doc Martin would have had to use to amputate his arm.  
  
Just thinking about the image of Tom now with half a limb missing brought shivers to his spine. He brought his own arm back in front of him and looked at the flesh and bone below the arm on his right. It was hard to picture what Tom's useless arm now looked like. All sorts of bloody and gory scenarios played out in his mind  
  
5.00am the next morning brought the sunlight filtering through the thin curtains that hung over his window. He knew that sleep had evaded him most of the night and there was little point in trying to catch up now with the day just beginning.  
  
Joe knew that it would be at least half an hour before Adam or the rest of his father would be rousing to start the day. This was the perfect opportunity to get a cup of coffee downstairs without having his family watching over his shoulder. He knew they wouldn't be very happy with what they were greeted with. Joe could feel the slight puffiness of his eyes from lack of sleep. By this afternoon they probably would be even more noticeable.  
  
Joe didn't bother changing the trousers he was wearing. He pulled a fresh shirt out of the chest of drawers across the room, careful not to make any noise for his family's sake. Once dressed and with his boots on, he silently went down the stairs towards the kitchen to see if there was any coffee brewing.  
  
Joe was a little startled at first by a noise coming from the kitchen. He soon realised though that it was only Hop Sing. The little Cantonese man was always up and busy before anybody else in the household. Hop Sing was also a little startled by the appearance of a Cartwright this early in the morning: especially this Cartwright.  
  
"Lil Joe, what you do out of bed so early?" the man enquired as he looked behind Joe to make sure that nobody else had arisen at this hour. He had barely had enough time to put the coffee pot onto brew and breakfast would take another half an hour to prepare.  
  
"I didn't mean to scare you Hop Sing," Joe said sheepishly at his friend. "Do you have any coffee ready please?" Joe asked as he rubbed tiredly at his eyes.  
  
"Joe not sleep good," Hop Sing said, more of a statement than a question as he looked over the young man's features and could notice faint lines that indicated Joe had not slept very well the night before if at all.  
  
"No Hop Sing," Joe said in an uninterested tone of voice as he sat down at his regular place at the table. It was taking all of his concentration from resting his head on his arms right here and now and nodding off to sleep on the dining room table.  
  
"Coffee be ready soon," Hop Sing said before going to check the pot on the stove to validate what he said. He was worried about Joe and so didn't say anything to him further about not having slept properly during the night.  
  
When the coffee was finally ready and Hop Sing brought a steaming hot cup out to the table, Joe had accidentally fallen asleep. Hop Sing was almost going to let the young man continue his brief slumber when the aroma of the coffee aroused Joe's senses and he woke on his own. "Thanks Hop Sing," Joe said as his cheeks took on a little bit of colour due to his embarrassment at having fallen asleep at the table. He sipped at the hot liquid hoping it would revitalise him enough in some way to get through the day. He had a lot of work planned for today. If he was lucky he would be too busy doing other things to think about Tom's accident too much.  
  
Joe drank the first cup of coffee rather slowly, but then downed the second one rather quickly before heading towards the credenza to get his gun belt and hat. Hop Sing had just emerged from the kitchen with a food laden plate. He looked a little surprised to see Joe's chair vacant.  
  
"I am over here Hop Sing," Joe said as he buckled the gun belt around his waist. "I won't have time for breakfast this morning. Too much to do but thanks, maybe I can eat it later," he added, seeing the dismayed expression on the Cantonese man's face. At first he thought the man would be mad at him about not eating a decent breakfast. Lord knew he had had enough lectures from his father over the years about proper eating habits and the importance of a hearty breakfast to sustain your throughout the morning.  
  
Hop Sing grumbled a few disgruntled words about cooking for people who didn't eat and about why he bothered to get out of bed in the morning. Joe didn't hear most of the conversation anyway and the bits he did hear and understand he chose to ignore. Hop Sing knew that Joe had no intention of eating the meal at any stage today. It would probably end up being consumed by Joe's larger brother Hoss who never said no to another helping.  
  
Joe didn't think he could really face food at all this morning anyway, but that wasn't entirely the reason for his skipping breakfast. After second cup of coffee he had just glanced briefly at the clock in the living room as it chimed 5.30am and knew that one of his family, most probably Adam or indeed all of them would soon be up and around getting ready to start their own day of work.  
  
Joe told himself that he didn't particularly want to be there this morning to greet their questions about how he felt and how he was coping. He just decided the best way to deal with the whole situation today was to ignore it and keep going about things as normal.  
  
Joe hadn't been wrong about his family soon being up and around, although he wasn't quite right about their order of appearance at the breakfast table this morning. About ten minutes after he had saddled his horse and ridden away from the ranch towards the northern-easterly pastures, his father Ben and older brother Hoss came down the stairs. Adam joined them no less than five minutes later and eagerly poured himself a cup of hot coffee to start the day.  
  
"Morning Hop Sing," Hoss said in a cheerful voice. He could see plates of food already on the table meant for the meal. What he also spotted was the fully laden plate of Joe's uneaten breakfast that Hop Sing had yet to attend to. Hop Sing had been distracted by his efforts to get everything done in time he had forgotten about it.  
  
"Gosh darn it Hop Sing, you are just the best, having already laid out my breakfast on the plate and everything," Hoss now said as he sat at the table and prepared to take his brothers breakfast. He noted a few things on the plate that were slightly out of character. The eggs were a little over done than he normally liked and there wasn't nearly enough on the plate than he would have normally served for himself.  
  
"You trying to put me on a diet or something Hop Sing," Hoss poked in fun as he now added to Joe's uneaten portions. Hoss and his father hadn't even thought that Joe might already be awake and been downstairs before them. It was not a usual occurrence for the youngest member of the family.  
  
"Please don't do that Hop Sing, we have a lot of work to do today and we can't afford to have Hoss telling us that he his hungry half the day or keeling over on us from lack of food," Adam now said with his dry humour.  
  
"Complain complain, all family do is complain," Hop Sing now said in his own defence as he had overheard Hoss's unintentional jibes at the food. "Mr Hoss eating Lil Joe's breakfast," he added matter of frankly.  
  
"Joe's breakfast, but he ain't even out of bed yet Hop Sing," Hoss now said. He hadn't meant to upset the little oriental man at this early hour of the morning.  
  
For the last few minutes, Ben had been content to let the bantering between Hoss and Hop Sing slide. There wasn't a day that went by that Hop Sing and Hoss weren't arguing to some extent about the size of portions served or the frequency of meals. It was hard to keep up with a man Hoss's size whose favourite pastime just happened to be eating.  
  
Ben put his coffee cup down though when Hop Sing mentioned about the breakfast plate being Joseph's.  
  
"Hop Sing I wasn't going to disturb Joe so early this morning. I was going to let him sleep until he was ready to get up on his own," Ben said. "I hope you two boys will help to shoulder the extra work for a day or so for your brother until he is in a better frame of mind."  
  
"Sure Pa, you know we will help out anywhere we can," Hoss said eagerly. He would go to no ends to help his younger brother out after what he had seen him go through yesterday.  
  
"Lil Joe already up hour ago. Have coffee, saddle horse and gone to start work," Hop Sing now informed Ben.  
  
"Joe's already left?" Adam said with a slight edge of concern in voice. Normally he would be scoffing at such a ridiculous notion about Joe being up so early in the morning.  
  
"You sure about that Hop Sing?" Hoss said with a similar tone of disbelief as his older brother. "You ain't been dreaming or something have you?"  
  
"Lil Joe already leave, rest of family have breakfast and do the same," Hop Sing in a huff and quickly turned to go back in the kitchen. He mumbled about having known if he had seen Joe or not that morning.  
  
"Seems as though younger brother didn't get as much sleep last night as you thought Pa," Adam now said in all seriousness.  
  
"Yes Adam, I think your right in your assumption. I only hope that he can find a way to get through this on his own if he won't let any of us in. Not sleeping or eating isn't going to help the process either," Ben said as he tried to figure out what to do next about Joe.  
  
"Well Hoss and I could try and keep an eye on him today like you asked us to," Adam now suggested as he prepared to get up from the table and leave for the day. "I can try anyway, I have a full day of work myself."  
  
"Yeah me too Pa, but I will try and ride up his way some time today and see how he is getting on," Hoss offered.  
  
"How about we try and convince Joe to go and visit Tom in a couple of days when he is feeling a little bit better?" Adam now asked. "It might help Joe come to terms with what has happened by seeing that Tom is going to be alright. I am sure that Tom would be happy about the company too."  
  
"That's not a bad idea Adam, but I would have to check with Paul first and see how Tom's doing. I don't think it would help Joe any to see Tom if he was still in a considerable amount of pain. Might undo all the good intentions we have," Ben said.  
  
"Joe hasn't got a lot to do today that would keep him at it all day. Maybe the lack of sleep will get the better of him around lunch time and he will come back for lunch and take have himself a little nap," Hoss now said, trying to reassure his father that Joe would be okay.  
  
"Maybe," Ben said and left the sentence unfinished as his mind started to wander about Joe and what other things he needed to attend to today. First off was the timber yard and the cleaning up after the accident and seeing to the men who would have turned up for work.  
  
Adam and Hoss had left for work shortly after breakfast and were now headed in different directions to complete the tasks assigned to them. Ben had also saddled Buck and was now seen riding towards the timber yard.  
  
Most of the men would be sent home for today at least with the promise of still being paid. He didn't know if the compulsory closure of the yard would extend any longer than that, putting their already tight schedule further behind.  
  
Ben reminded himself that it didn't make a difference how long the timber yard took to get back to full production. The timber yard was important but his son's well being and health were of more importance above everything else that might be going on around at the moment.  
  
****************************************************************************  
***********  
  
The first few hours of the day seemed uninteresting to Joe. He rode Cochise around the northern pastures, with no real recipe for what he was to do. There were a few chores that needed attending to, but all he felt like doing at the moment was riding.  
  
It wasn't fast riding, more slow and rhythmic but it seemed to calm down his nerves some and allow him time just to let the scenery go by without causing him to think too hard.  
  
Things dramatically changed though as he approached the line of fencing that he had checked on only the day before. The fence had been mended to his satisfaction but what he saw taking place at the moment, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end.  
  
The canopy of the trees shielded him from being seen at the moment which was a plus in his favour. He pulled Cochise off further into the trees and then dismounted and drew his gun as he hid behind a nearby tree and watched what was going on not too far away from him.  
  
A short distance away a group of three men stood, Joe recognised two of them as being the men who had been told to repair the fence in the first place. The other fellow they were talking to seemed to be a stranger. Joe wanted to know why these two had invited a complete stranger on to Ponderosa land without permission.  
  
From where he was standing, Joe could overhear certain parts of the ensuing conversation between the trio.  
  
"When is the hit going to go down?" came the question from one of the hands hired by Joe.  
  
"As soon as possible. I don't what them nosy Cartwrights finding out about this until after the job has been completed," came the reply from the stranger.  
  
"You said we would get a fair cut in this if we did what you asked and kept our end of the bargain," the second hand now said.  
  
"You'll do what you are told and keep your mouth shut and then maybe you'll get what is coming to you," the stranger now warned. From what Joe could see and hear, he was obviously the leader of the trio.  
  
Joe was a little too impulsive though as the anger in him began to rise that something underhanded was about to be carried out with him or his family knowing.  
  
"Hold it right there!" Joe now shouted at the three men as he slowly emerged from behind the tree with his gun firmly in his left hand and drawn, ready to be used if necessary.  
  
At first the men seemed startled and didn't quite know which direction the voice was coming from. They soon saw the youngest Cartwright approaching them though and the two hands knew that they were in trouble as Joe would have already recognized them.  
  
"Uh Mr Cartwright, this isn't what it looks like....." one of them tried to start saying in his own defence but he knew it would be a fruitless exercise.  
  
"Save it, I don't want to hear your lame excuses," Joe said with a hiss, not in any mood to compromise or listen to any alibi.  
  
"But Joe we was only....." the second fellow piped in a little uneasy at the sight of the firmly gripped weapon in Joe's hand. He knew from what he had been told by other hands on the ranch that Joe knew how to handle the gun and his draw time was very fast.  
  
"Get out....all three of you," he now said and gripped the gun tighter and pointed it towards the trio in a threatening manner. "Don't come back here or you will have me to deal with and find yourselves doing a stint in the jail or a while."  
  
The stranger hadn't heard of Joe's gun skills. He barely knew who the young man was. He knew he was a Cartwright and that the plan he had hatched out was now blown to pieces by his sudden appearance and interruption. He thought he might test just how good his young man though he was with a gun. He was no slough himself and would put the Cartwright to the test.  
  
Joe saw the man reach for his gun and knew exactly what the stranger had in mind, "Drop it or you'll regret it!"  
  
"I think I can take on a young snip of a kid like you," the man retorted back, still edging his hand closer and closer to his holster.  
  
Joe's temper got the better of him and he holstered his own gun and took two paces backwards away from the stranger, ready to draw.  
  
The two ranch hands immediately got back away from the pair seeing what was about to happen. Neither of them breathed a word about who they thought might win. From where they stood both Joe and the stranger looked pretty evenly matched rivals.  
  
"Last chance to back out kid," the man said as he gripped the cigar between his teeth a little tighter. His plan had originally been to do old man Cartwright out of a few head of steers over a few nights. The enticement of having the dead body of one of his sons to deliver back to him was also very appealing. He was no murderer but took any chance that came along to come out on top.  
  
"The three of you just need to turn around and get off our land before you get into more trouble," Joe said. He knew that he would have to report the men's actions to his father later on and that Ben would want to be involving the law in such matters.  
  
For the next 15 seconds there was a silence between the two men. Joe kept his fingers nimble and moving but slightly away from his holster. The stranger's hand rested very lightly on top of his own holster, trying to win very second of advantage that he could.  
  
Then in the blink of an eye both men went to draw there guns. Joe's speed had to be seen to be believed and the two ranch hands gasped out loud as the youngest Cartwright now held the iron barrel at the other man, threatening to aim with deadly accuracy.  
  
The stranger had barely gotten his own gun out before he looked down the bore of Joe's gun. He swallowed slightly as he looked at the pistol pointed towards him. He knew that the younger man had been faster and that only Joe's good nature had prevented him having a piece of lead in his chest right at this moment.  
  
"Get Out," Joe said in a low, deep voice.  
  
The stranger and ranch hands knew that they had no choice but to comply with Joe's demands. They scrambled towards their horses and only looked back once they had begun to ride away at a pace. The stranger was still cursing at being beaten by someone half his age.  
  
Joe still had his gun drawn as he watched the trio ride away towards Virginia City. For a reason he would never be able to explain if asked later, Joe's thoughts drifted away from the would be criminals to words that he had heard Doc Martin utter the day before about Tom's accident.  
  
Paul had said that Tom would be able to be retaught to use his right arm to do everyday tasks that he had accomplished with his right arm. Joe looked down at his own left arm that still held onto the gun. His hand was fast at drawing, he knew that and had been told that by many men before. He used to pride himself at the fact that he could draw faster than most boys his own age and most men he had known.  
  
Joe had rarely been forced to draw his gun on many occasions before. A few, when things had gotten out of hand and he or somebody else was in danger of being seriously hurt. What would happen if he couldn't draw so fast with his left hand? he asked himself. What would happen if he couldn't use his left arm to draw at all or even fire a gun?  
  
Joe now holstered his gun and started walking back to his horse Cochise who was waiting patiently underneath the canopy of the trees. He couldn't get the question out of his mind no matter how hard he tried. He couldn't come up with a plausible answer either about what he would do if he found himself in Tom's situation.  
  
Joe didn't feel much like working and started heading back towards the ranch. The subject about him being able to use his left arm and Tom's accident plaguing his every thought on the ride back. He thought it best not to bring up the subject to his family though as they would only worry more about him.  
  
Ben was actually seated at his desk in the living room when he heard the front door open and was surprised to see his youngest son amble into the room. He inwardly sighed in relief that he seemed to be in one piece. His expression still gave away his tiredness but other than that Joe looked okay.  
  
"Hi Joe," Ben now said, trying hard not to start the conversation with "How are you Joe?"  
  
At first Joe seemed content enough to be caught up in his own thoughts as he unbuckled his gun belt and removed his hat. He ran a hand through his tangled curls at the front only to be reminded once again that he was using his left hand again.  
  
Joe's face seemed to frown all of a sudden and Ben wondered what thoughts were running through the boy's head that would make him have such an expression. He noted that Joe's mood seemed no better than it had been yesterday and his body language suggested he was tense about something.  
  
"Caught some fellows up near the northern fences trying to plot out a plan," Joe now said to his father, hoping that changing the subject would help him.  
  
"Oh what were they doing?" Ben said wondering if this was the reason for Joe's moody behaviour.  
  
"I don't know what they were planning to do but it can't have been good," Joe admitted, cursing himself for not waiting longer to find out what exactly the men had intended to do. He had only succeeded in running the men off. No telling if they would be coming back or not.  
  
"I had to warn them off with force," Joe now said, hoping that he wouldn't have to elaborate further about drawing his gun on the men.  
  
Somehow though Ben drew the assumption that some degree of gun play had come into the picture. He was thankful that everything must have worked itself out okay and nobody was hurt.  
  
"We might have to keep an eye up there for a few days in case they come back. Two of them were those two I had repairing the fence the other day, I didn't recognize the other man," Joe explained.  
  
"Would you like something to eat?" Ben now asked, hoping to get his son to eat something. He nodded in agreement to Joe's statement about keeping an eye out for the men he had run off the ranch.  
  
"Nah, I don't think so Pa, I am kinda beat. Rather just lay out here for a minute and maybe close my eyes for a while," Joe now said as he sat on the edge of the settee and removed his boots.  
  
Joe now lay back against the arm rest and closed his eyes. Due to the tiredness he felt, it didn't take but a few minutes to see that Joe was drifting towards sleep. Hopefully all the things he had been thinking hard about would leave to sleep in peace for just a few hours.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED.......  
  
Hi Everyone - this is the first instalment of another long story - I know this doesn't look much like a sequel yet and Butch Thomas probably won't make his appearance until sometime through the next chapter - but I need to do all of this set up writing before hand so that the story makes sense later on.  
  
The story is going to get fairly complicated after a while with the number of characters involved so I will break it up for easier reading. The end of the next chapter should leave no doubt in your minds that Butch Thomas has indeed returned. Joe is now much more grown up since last meeting and the games that Thomas has in mind take on a much more mature nature.  
  
Not much has happened in this chapter - much more to come - next chapter will see how Tom deals with the loss of his arm and Joe asks himself some serious questions that he doesn't know how to find the answers to.  
  
Please let me know what you think so far - I thrive on reviews and look forward to each one.  
  
Thank you for all those who had input into this first part.  
  
Please keep reading and hope you all enjoy the story so far.  
  
JULES 


	2. Chapter Two

**THE GUNFIGHTER**

**This story is a sequel to False Witness and although it would be possible to read on it's own, you will need to know the background about the character Butch Thomas and how he and the Cartwright family came to know of each other.**

**I have changed my mind slightly for this story and it will take place only 3 years after Thomas was sent to prison for the attempted murder and kidnapping of Little Joe Cartwright.  That makes Joe 19 years old for this story and suits the theme of the story a little better.  I was originally going to have it five years afterwards at the age of 21 years.**

**Hope you enjoy this one as much as False Witness:**

**_Three years earlier these few words echoed in Joe Cartwright's memory:_**

****

**"_SOMEDAY I WILL COME BACK.   YOU AND I WILL MEET AGAIN – I PROMISE"_**

**_and_****_ now the story turns another page and continues:_**

For the remaining hours of the afternoon, Ben stayed as close to his youngest son as

he would be allowed without being accused of hovering.   Joe had appeared to take

some respite on the settee but it was a restless one, plagued by too many memories.

Occasionally Joe would jerk out his arm and mumble something incoherent before

rolling over onto his side and face the back of the couch.

Just before supper was ready to be served, the loud clomp from the boots of Hoss could

be heard to approach the front door.   He was shadowed by Adam into the house.

"Keep it down boys," Ben pleaded, indicating Joe resting on the settee.   Unfortunately

though Joe had heard his brothers come into the house and now sat up, rubbing tiredly

at his eyes.

"Sorry, Joe," Hoss said apologetically.  He knew that restful sleep had been avoiding his

brother since the accident and he was loathe to disturb any that might be attainable.

"It's alright, Hoss, I was just getting up anyway," Joe said, giving his father a wan smile

of apology at the blatant lie.

"To tell you the truth, Joe, you really do look beat," Hoss commented cautiously, not wanting to tread on his brother's already beaten self-esteem.

Joe didn't respond to Hoss's comments, not really in the mood for getting into a conversation about anything with anyone right at the moment.   His body was slowly reminding him of just how heavy the accident and guilt over Tom was starting to weigh.

"Supper ready, Mista Cartwright," Hop Sing announced, loudly enough for the whole family to hear.

"Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, Hop Sing, tell me that you cooked a big heap of them there pork

chops with baked potatoes and lots of gravy and I will be forever grateful," Hoss said, sitting at the table first, and showing his was ready to eat by holding onto his knife and fork in both hands.

"What he means, Hop Sing, is that you put anything that resembles food onto this table, then my brother here will eat it," Adam said dryly, poking fun at his larger framed brother.  He had hoped his jibes at Hoss's eating habits would be enough to have Joe give a dig also, or at least invoke a chuckle or a smile.

Ben could see what Adam was trying to do, and didn't necessarily disapprove of his eldest son's methods.  Looking across at this youngest son, Joe however, he could see that the efforts were mostly in vain.   Joe was sitting at the table, but his head was pointed downwards and his eyes seemed to be focused on the empty china plate in front of him.

Joe began sliding the metal fork back and forth across the porcelain surface of the plate, causing a dreadful screeching sound.   He seemed to be immune to the sound, but the noise made every nerve fibre of the others to vibrate and rattle.   

Joe was too consumed by his own thoughts to notice any of the concern or worrisome looks given by his family.   Ben had tried to involve his son in minor conversation, but his efforts were thwarted at each question or comment by Joe's persistent one word responses.

"How was your day today, Joe?" Adam asked, looking at this father, Joe's face still downcast towards his plate.  Maybe he would respond more to somebody else other than his father, or at least that was the theory that they were clinging to.

"Umph," was the half-hearted reply from Joe.

"Joe said that he ran into some trouble earlier today," Ben now informed his two eldest sons, hoping the change in topic might be enough to get Joe to fill in the missing pieces of information.

"Trouble?" Adam queried, noting the tone in his father's voice.

Joe looked up from his plate, but still made no addition to the conservation.  He was happy enough for his father to relay what had happened for the time being.

"Could be," Ben said.   "Joe said he didn't recognize one of them.  A stranger around these parts perhaps.  We might have to be a bit more vigilant coming up to the drive.  Some sort of underhanded deal was being carved out between this stranger and the other two men."

"I take it then that the other two men weren't strangers?" Hoss asked, picking up on his father's comments about the first man mentioned.  "Who were they, Joe?"

Joe found himself answering the question, like it or not.  It required more than a one word response, but he gave it anyway.   "The two younger ones were those fellows I hired to do that fencing," he said.

Everyone seated at the table could tell by the tone of his voice that the fact that Joe had been the one to hire those two men in the first place and regretted doing so.  Then to have to constantly check up on their progress or to see if they had carried out the instructions given to them, was just another thorn that Joe burdened himself with.

"What were they planning to do, Joe?" Adam asked, both out of a concern for whatever criminal activity might be festering upon the Ponderosa right under their noses, and to keep Joe's attention away from the guilt over Tom Withers.

"I couldn't hear all that they were talking about, but something about rustling some cattle, I think," Joe offered.

"Did they give you any trouble, Joe?" Hoss asked, a little concerned that there was more to the story than Joe just happening to stumble across them discussing their would-be plans.

"Nah, the stranger got a bit hot under the collar and tried to pull his gun to see whether I would shoot or not, but he soon backed off," Joe said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he thought about the dissatisfied look that he had received from the man.

"Good for you Joe, see Adam, I done told you before, that little brother of ours can handle himself just find without us," Hoss said, trying to lighten everyone's mood.

"Yes I know you did, but all the same, you just be careful, Joe," Adam warned.  "Don't go making my unnecessary enemies that might come back to haunt you later."

"I won't, Adam, I don't think we have to worry about seeing too much more of them around here.  I think I scared them just enough to make them think twice before trying anything," Joe assured his family.

The conversation seemed to all but dry up at this point in time.  Joe's dark mood seemed to be lifting a little, and he was beginning to join in the family dinner, much to the relief of his father.

It wasn't until halfway through the meal that Ben became aware that something was still disturbing his son's thoughts.  Joe seemed to be staring intently at his hand at one point and frowning while he was eating.

"Is something the matter, Joe?" Ben asked, seeing a mix of emotions play out on his son's face.   

"Nobody realises how important their hands are until something happens," Joe said out aloud.

Ben frowned a little as he came to the belief that Joe was still trying to deal with Tom Wither's accident and the loss of his arm.   While this was true to a certain extent, none of them were aware that Joe was putting himself in the position of losing a limb and what the implications of that loss would mean to his everyday life.

Adam exchanged brief looks with his father before deciding maybe it was time that Joe was helped or nudged in the right direction to starting to come to terms with what had happened.   "Joe, maybe you should go and visit Tom," he suggested.

The startled looks from both Ben and Hoss said enough to Adam that he had perhaps said the wrong thing, but it was the reaction from Joe himself that was most hurtful.

Joe jerked his head up from the concentration on his hand at Adam's words.  His emerald

green eyes on fire with anger and his face beginning to show colour to match.  

"Oh, and just what the hell am I supposed to say to him, Adam?" Joe demanded hotly.

"Sorry about your arm Tom.   Sorry you don't have much of a life anymore Tom.   Sorry

you can't work anymore."

By the time Joe was finished, he was standing up from his seat and gripping the table with both hands so that the knuckles were beginning to turn white.   "I may never be able to walk past him on the street again or talk face to face with Tom again.   Did you ever think of that, Adam?" he shouted.

Joe began to walk away from the table, angry with Adam and angry at himself for being

mad with his brother.    All at once the anger and frustration seeped out of him and left him with a sense of numbness all over.   He mounted the first two steps of the staircase, heading up to his room before turning to face his family again.

"Besides, what would we have to talk about now," Joe said in a soft voice, his face crumpling under the weight of his own guilt.   He didn't wait for a reply and closed the door to his bedroom with a quiet "click".

"I apologise Pa, it wasn't the right time to bring that up at the table," Adam said as he sipped at his black coffee and thought about what his younger brother had said.

"No, perhaps not, but we have to bring him out of this rut he has dug for himself.    He won't talk about the accident at all.   He won't open up to any of us while he is feeling like this, Adam," Ben commented.

"Maybe I should go up there and try and talk to him, Pa," Hoss said, weighing into the conversation.   "I am not much good at fancy talking or anything, but Joe and I used to be able to talk about anything when we were younger."

"Best leave him be for a while, Hoss," Ben replied.   "You can have a talk to him tomorrow at breakfast before he leaves to start work.    What has Joe got planned anyway, either of you two know?"

"Just some general checking of some of the more remote fence lines in the morning Pa," Adam informed his father.   "With that cattle drive starting in a few days time, we are going to need to make sure that they are

in good shape to handle the large herds that we plan on bringing back with us."

Ben nodded his head in acknowledgement, looking towards the closed bedroom door and hoping that tomorrow they might find a way to get Joe to talk about Tom's accident and getting him to believe that it wasn't his fault.   It was the best they could do for the moment.

After the household had retired that night, Joe was still wide awake, a million different thoughts rushing through his head about various things that had happened over the last few days and what his direct involvement in all of it had been.

Somewhere around midnight, Joe's eyes started to drift closed into an uneasy sleep.    His dreams were dark and in pieces that he couldn't make heads or tails of.   Most of them revolved around a central theme of Tom Withers and the accident being played over and over again in his mind.

At one point in his dream, Joe had knelt down to turn over the injured Tom, just like he had in the timber yard.   Instead of finding a semi-conscious man with a bleeding limb though, he found a hateful looking Tom staring at him with accusations on his lips.

_"You did this to me Joe Cartwright" _the dream Tom would shout at him.    _"And I don't aim to let you forget either."_

_"But Tom, it was only an accident," _dream Joe tried to explain, just like his family were telling him.  It was just an accident.

_"Accident………_," dream Tom scoffed.   _"Does this look like a accident to you?" he shouted and held up the bleeding and mangled remains of the limb for Joe to see before him._

Another dream took place after the accident with Joe finding himself walking down the main street of Virginia City, passing people that he knew, just he did every day.   But this time the stares were cold and harsh.   The grey eyes of the Virginia City folk looked back at him as though he were an outcast and should not be allowed to walk the streets of their beloved town.

_"Go back to where you came from Cartwright.   We don't like troublemakers in this town," _one of the dream people hurled at him.

Other figures in the dream seemed to recoil away from him as he passed beside them or withdrew their children from his sight as though he would bring harm to them.

The hardest image to take in all of these dreams was when he reached the Ponderosa and was ready to walk into the house.   He was met at the front door by the dark and accusing figures of his family, just like those people on the streets.   Their faces were grim also and their eyes held no comfort and no warm for him.   They did not welcome him with open arms and looks of compassion or understanding.

_"You have brought shame on this family Joseph," _the dream Ben said as he barred Joe's entrance to the one place he thought he would find sanctuary and safety from all of the lies and gossip.

_"Why did you do it Little Joe?" _dream Hoss asked and turned away from Joe as if brushing his hands of any brotherly connection.

_"You should have known better Joe," _dream Adam said, his arms folded across his chest and his eyes narrowing.   

By now, Joe had been tossing and turning in his bed for quite a few minutes, living every one of the emotions that was being felt in his dream state.    His face was pinched with colour as he tried to understand the hostility directed at him.   His hands fought with the bedclothes as though he were fighting off those reaching for him in the nightmare.

"It was an accident, why can't you believe that," Joe screamed, sitting bolt upright in bed as he said the words.   His face was pale as he looked about the room.   Sweat was running down his face.  His heart beat was racing.

Ben and his two sons burst into the room at that point, taking in a very shaken looking Joe who was sitting up in bed, trying to regain his composure from what must have been an horrific realistic nightmare.

"Are you alright, Joseph?" Ben said as he sat on the side of the bed and took Joe's trembling hands in his own.  He was alarmed as just how much his son seemed to be affected by the dream.  

Hoss handed Ben a glass of water, which Joe gratefully accepted with a nod of thanks.   He drunk the water and then lay back against the back of the bed, still sitting up, closing his eyes and trying to make the demons in his head go away.

"Rough dream?" Ben said gently.   Joe response was to again nod, but not open his eyes.   Everyone in the room had already guessed at the subject of the dreams.   They had all heard Joe's strangulated cry before entering his room.

"I'll be alright now, Pa," Joe said, a little embarrassed at having his whole family come into his room in the middle of the night at his age, just for something such as a bad dream.

Despite the bad dream, Ben could see that Joe was still reluctant to talk to anyone about what he was feeling.   "I'll leave you to get some rest then, Joe."

"Thanks," Joe said, meaning to all of his family for dragging them out of bed.

"We will be right down the hall if you need us, Joe," Ben said as he took a last look at his son and closed the door.       Upon the door closing, Joe let out an audible sigh of relief, knowing he would have found it very difficult to talk to his family about what he had just seen, if they wanted him to tell them about his dreams.

He spent the remainder of the night by the window, careful so as to not make any noise to alert his family to his wakefulness.     He didn't want to risk dreaming again and seeing those accusing faces again.

As dawn began to emerge in the sky, Joe made sure that he was at the table, drinking his coffee and on his way out the door to work before the rest of his family had a chance to ask him about the dreams or if he had any more after they left.

The easiest thing to do was try and ignore it Joe told himself.   To ignore the voices in his head and the flash backs he saw in his dreams of Tom laying on the floor of the timberyard bleeding.  To shut everything and everyone out and go about things as he would any other day.   To pretend it all just never happened.

Joe mounted Cochise and headed out towards the fence lines, just as Ben was coming down the stairs and ready to greet Hop Sing and breakfast.

"Little Joe already left," Hop Sing informed the patriarch of the family.   "No eat breakfast, coffee again and leave," he added, shaking his head and making a few idle comments in Cantonese that Ben couldn't decipher.

"Did I just hear Hop Sing say that Joe has left already again? Adam asked as he too came down the stairs, ready to start a day of work.  "Morning, Pa."

"Morning son," Ben said in reply, sipping his coffee.  "Yes, I am afraid Joe has already left again."

"I will try and make some time later on to go and see what he is up too, Pa.    Can't make any promises, but I will try," Adam said.

"I know you will son, and thanks," Ben said in gratitude.   Neither of them had any idea that this day would prove to be a mighty long one for all involved in the family.

At about lunch time that day, Joe decided he had had enough of checking fences and decided to head into town to the Saloon for a beer.    

He had tried to keep himself busy for the majority of the morning, hoping his concentration on work would dull out the voices still chanting in his head about his dreams and memories.    At one point he remembered Adam's suggestion from the night before about visiting Tom.   At the dinner table last night, he could think of a million reasons why he couldn't or shouldn't.     Now, sitting out here in the heat, all alone, he could be damned for not thinking of a single one that would suffice.

_'What did he have to lose anyway?' _he asked himself.    Tom and he had been friends for a long time.   He knew the accident would change Tom's life dramatically but that didn't mean that they couldn't still  be friends.     He at least owed it to Tom to go and see how he was doing, Joe convinced himself.

So on the way to Virginia City and the Bucket of Blood saloon, Joe talked to himself about what he would say to Tom when he arrived.   He had already made the decision to go and talk to Tom before having his beer at the Saloon.   Whilst the beer might give him the confidence he needed to make the visit, Joe knew that he needed to be sober and clear-headed for something like this.

Joe rode Cochise to the Bucket of Blood saloon and hitched her to the rail outside.   Tom's house was only a short distance from the saloon, and the man was known to frequent the pub himself on many occasions during his working life.    

It was that very topic that plagued Joe all the way to Tom's house.   The fact that Tom's working life was probably over.   Doc Martin had spoken about him being taught to do other suitable work.   But what comfort was that for a man who had worked with stock and timber all of his life.   To be told that he couldn't do the work he loved anymore and be given a lowly job such as mucking the stalls or helping around the yard.   Whatever tasks that were suitable to a one-armed man anyway.

From where he stood now, Joe could see Tom Wither's house.    Not much to look at, an old mining cottage that Tom had bought with his meagre savings from old widow Simpson just before she headed back east after the death of her husband.    The house was very small.   Big enough for Tom though.   The front yard never receiving any attention and devoid of any flowerbeds or vegetation.    

There was only one window in the cottage and an old rickety wooden door, with hinges that needed oiling in the winter months.   No doubt it let in a few of the elements every now and then Joe assumed, looking at its state of disrepair.  Tom would sometimes complain about the oppressive heat during summer and on other winter mornings, come to work telling Joe of how frozen his fingers felt from the overnight sprinkling of fresh snow.

There was a thin curtain hanging in the window, not quite reaching all the way to the sill.    Joe couldn't be sure with the sunlight directly in front of him, but for just a moment, he thought he saw a face peering back at him from within the house.    If there was somebody watching him approach, chances are that it could only be Tom himself.

Maybe he had heard footsteps approaching and wanted to know who was coming to his house.   Maybe Tom was feeling the weight of being shut out from the rest of the world as was looking out to see what he was missing.    Maybe he was hiding from all of the stares and looks of sympathy for someone who was now an invalid and cripple.    

Joe paused before going any closer.   He felt as if he feet didn't want to obey his commands to keep walking.   Something inside of him kept going back to the words he had heard from Tom's lips in his dreams that previous night.   '_Make sure you never forget,' echoed in his mind once more in Tom's voice._

Joe felt the palms of his hands become sweaty with nervous perspiration.    '_What was he going to say?'  _He tried to rehearse a few lines in his head of how he would greet Tom.   What was he going to do when Tom answered the door?    Holding out his own hand, ready for a handshake seemed in bad taste.    And what did he do when he saw the missing arm.   Did he try and look as though he had never seen it?  Did he try and apologize and offer to help where he could?    What would Tom want him to do?

After a few more minutes, Joe decided that he had better have that beer first.    He just didn't know how to approach Tom and hoped the bottom of a beer glass would help provide an answer on his way home.  As Joe slowly turned away from the small cottage and headed back to the Bucket of Blood, he was unaware that he would never get that chance to talk to Tom Withers again.

As Joe neared the front swing doors to the saloon, the noise and smoky atmosphere appealed to him even more to drown out the voices in his head.     He walked in and approached Sam at the bar.

"Beer thanks, Sam," Joe asked, looking around as he placed his order.   There seemed to be a lot of people in the bar for this time of the day.   It wasn't pay day or anything.   The noise seemed a little louder than normal too.   As if something was brewing to get out of hand.    

Joe heard the glass placed in front of him, but didn't bother to look as he reach over and took his first large mouthful.     He let the sweet taste of the beer invade his sense for a second and savoured the false sense of security that it offered.    

Joe was about to let himself be fully submerged in the rowdy surroundings until he spotted two faces in the crowd that he recognized.     He didn't know the reason for them being here, but he knew he didn't like it.

One of them was the young ranch hand he had hunted from the fence line yesterday and the other was the Stranger he had been trying to make a deal with and had shaped up to Joe when confronted.    Both of them seemed to have one to many beers under their belts now, being unsteady on their feet and boisterous amongst the group they were with.

"You should have seen the way we handled that Cartwright pup," the Stranger boasted, his back turned to Joe, so that he was unaware of Joe's presence in the saloon.  

"Kid thinks he has got a rich daddy and a gun and can order me around," the Stranger continued, taking another swallow of his whisky glass.    "Next time I see him it will be different, you mark my words."

Joe's emotions were fuelled by grief, guilt and anger at the moment, and he wasn't about to keep quiet while he was made a fool of in front of the bar.     Joe placed his half empty glass on the table and started walking determinedly towards the taunter, ready to have it out with him if it became necessary.

"You were saying," Joe said as he tapped the man on the shoulder and stood behind him in a demanding pose.    "Why don't we just see if your fist is as big as your mouth," Joe said ominously.

The stranger turned around, a little surprised to have his words answered to by none other than Joe himself.   But the alcohol was doing its job and making him feel like he could take on anyone at the moment.   "Well, look here, if it isn't the mighty Joe Cartwright himself," the man teased, the others in the group laughing along with him. 

The ranch hand had a little more sense than his partner in crime and tried his best to make himself scarce before he bore the brunt of a Joe Cartwright's temper.   A few of the others followed his lead when they glanced back at the no nonsense look on Joe's face.

"You better git back to your daddy before he sends someone out looking for ya boy," the man jeered.  Pushing his face up as close as he dared to Joe to see what sort of reaction he could extract.

"I don't need no one to fight for me, mister!" Joe said, barely keeping his anger in check.   He gritted his teeth as he began seething at the man's drunken display on his family and reputation. 

"I apologize Mr Cartwright, seems as your right.   You don't need your daddy or brothers to take care of you now.   Seems as though you are the one doing the caring now.   I hear that you like the company of cripples now," the stranger spat back.

Joe's temper climbed another notch at the mention of the word 'cripple'.   There was only one person he knew the man was referring to.  How he came to know about the accident at all he didn't know, but cared about either.   Somewhere in the back of his mind, Joe found himself using his own failings at being able to face Tom about the accident and his own feelings of guilt to fuel the disdain and anger he felt towards the man who was taunting him.

Sam could see that things were about to turn might ugly in the Bucket of Blood, and somehow, Joe had managed to get himself right in the middle of it.    The bartender knew that Ben didn't appreciate his son's brawling in the saloon like common criminals.   Ben would not be impressed to hear that Joe was hurt or injured in a fight no matter who threw the first punch.

Joe pulled his arm back, ready to deliver that first blow, grabbing a handful of the stranger's shirt to make sure his aim didn't go astray.    He was prevented from letting his fist go when Sam fired a rifle into the ceiling, startling all who were about to take part in the fight.

Joe whirled around, as did a number of other patrons in the saloon, flinching a little at the splinters that resulted from the shot.

"I don't know who started it, but I am going to finish it, here and now," Sam said to all.   "Now, Little Joe, its none of my business what irks you have here with his fellow.   Or what he has against you.  But you find somewhere else and some other time to settle your differences."

Joe heeded Sam's words, a little ashamed that he was going to start an all in brawl for having someone accuse him of keeping company with Tom because he was cripple.    He knew his father would have his hide if he came home sporting a black eye or bruises from a fight that he hadn't backed away from or work out some other way.   Ben Cartwright had taught his three sons to work out their problems without resorting to violence. 

Joe turned back towards his taunter, a let go of his shirt.    Whatever the fight was going to be about now didn't really seem to matter anymore.    Joe walked back to the bar and picked up his hat before heading out of the door.    He didn't even bother looking at any of the other patrons as he went to collect his horse and headed for home.

For his submissive actions, the stranger and the others laughed at Joe as he left without admitting defeat.   The stranger had very much wanted to see how he did hand to hand against the Cartwright kid with his fists.   He hoped that somewhere down the line he got that chance to see who was better.

Nobody, not even Joe noticed a figure sitting at a table in the very back of the bar room.   He had made no noise, but watched the argument between Joe and the stranger with interest.    He blew a puff of smoke into the air from his cigar as he watched the young man leave the saloon and mount his horse.

The man had entered the saloon shortly before Joe had walked in.   He had ordered a bottle of whisky and a glass and then took up at a table in the back corner.   From where he was sitting, his presence was concealed by a partition in the wall.   He was able to see the comings and goings within the bar room without much threat of being discovered.

Sam had wanted to ask the drifter who he was, but he had learned a long time ago in this saloon business that there were people in this world that wanted to remain nameless.   His mud stained clothes and worn boots gave the appearance that he had been travelling for a number of days and had just arrived in town.   He gave no indication that he wanted to interact with any of the other men in the bar, instead steering clear and content enough to enjoy his own company.  

All just as well, he didn't want to attract Joe's attention just yet.   There were many things that needed to be put into place first.     Plans that had to be carefully laid out.   Revenge against Joe Cartwright and his family would have to wait a little longer.

Joe rode slowly back towards the Ponderosa, passing Tom Withers old cottage as he headed out of town.    He couldn't help but notice that there was no signs of activity within the house.   

As he slowly made his way home, Joe couldn't help but notice how tired he was beginning to feel.   He had not had much sleep since his nightmares the night before and had left relatively early to avoid the questioning and concerned looks from his family.

His shoulders were slumped and his head bowed towards his breast, his eyes threatening to close in sleep.   Thankfully he had taught Cochise a long time ago how to get home without any instruction from his master.   It had come in handy on a number of occasions in the past, and it was only thanks to Cochise that he had made it home safely on a few nights in the past that he would rather forget.

Cochise made a small whinny sound as she entered the yard of the Ponderosa, letting her rider know that he had finally made it home.    She was rewarded with a gentle pat to her long neck, "Thanks,"   Joe muttered and slid down off the saddle rather than dismounted.   His body had run out of energy and his muscles no longer wanted to obey his brain's will.

Joe was about to lead Cochise into the barn and rub her down for the day when he noticed a buggy parked near the house.     Upon closer inspection, he recognized the vehicle as belonging to the local physician Doctor Paul Martin.    This made him grimace a little, thinking that his family had asked the kindly doctor out to the ranch on his behalf.

Joe shrugged off the tiredness for a few minutes and strode purposefully towards the front door, ready to give his family a blistering argument for not needing to see Doc Martin.  As he turned the handle and opened the door, the looks on the faces of his father and brothers made the words die upon his lips.

Paul Martin had been seated with his back to Joe, but turned around as he heard the door open.   If it were possible, the doctor looked exactly how Joe felt; tired and worn.   The man looked as though he hadn't had a good night's sleep himself and there were dark circles of fatigue under the man's eyes.

It was the expression on the faces of his father and brothers that perplexed him even more.   They were looking at him with sympathy, almost as if they were afraid to tell him something.  That coupled with the tired look from the doctor made Joe even more uneasy as he placed his hat upon the peg and unbuckled his gun belt and placed it on the credenza.

"Hello son," Ben said, knowing that one of them had to at least greet Joe as he entered the room.  They could all see how tired and worn he looked, no doubt a combination of work and still dealing with the after effects of the accident.   Which made it even more difficult for what he was about to tell his son.

"How did you go today, Joe?" Adam asked casually, trying to take off some of the tension that seemed to be accumulating within the room.

"Alright I suppose," Joe offered meekly.  "Had a little trouble just now at the saloon in town," he said, thinking it better that the explanation come from his own account rather than from Sam or someone else in the bar room to his father.

"What kind of trouble, short shanks?" Hoss said, not being able to mask his feelings of awkwardness as well as Pa or Adam.

"Can you imagine the nerve of those scum," Joe shouted all of a sudden as he paced back and forth across the room, waving his arms about, displaying his abject frustration.

"They were calling him a cripple, Pa," Joe said, the contempt he felt towards the men responsible clearly visible to all in the room.    "They called Tom a cripple because he lost his arm.   And then they accused me of ………….., well you don't need to know what they were saying about me."

Ben's heart sunk further as he realised just how difficult the next subject was going to be to approach with Joe's nerves on edge after already being pushed to the limit that day.   The fact that the argument had centred around Tom made it even harder.

Joe then stopped his pacing and looked down at his hands as he admitted what else he had tried to do that afternoon before heading to the saloon.   "I tried to go and visit Tom………." leaving the sentence incomplete.

Thankfully Joe was unaware of the looks that were exchanged between Ben and Paul Martin at how fortunate they had been that Joe had not been able to do just that.   Mercy had smiled upon him, even if he was unaware of it, for it seemed he was spared from seeing a most gruesome scene.   Paul Martin had seen it himself first hand and still shuddered at the memory of seeing Tom that afternoon.

"How are you feeling, Joe?" Paul asked, a natural question for a doctor in his position and something he had asked innumerable times before, but this time, it seemed to have a falseness about it.

"Fine!" Joe said with a little emphasis, trying to keep to his original plan of telling the doctor that he didn't need anyone checking up on him.    Joe looked from brother to brother and then to his father.  Something had happened and they obviously didn't want to tell him what.

"Out with it, what is wrong?   I am too tired to play games," Joe said firmly, his hands on hips, waiting for a response.

"Joe, why don't you sit down for a minute," Ben said, rising from his arm chair and attempting to guide Joe over to the settee, not knowing what sort of reaction this piece of news was going to invoke.   

"I don't want to sit down until you tell me what is going on, Pa!" Joe said, pulling away from his father's grip.

Ben resigned to the fact that they were just going to have to tell Joe regardless.  There was going to be no easy way, and they couldn't keep this sort of information from him.    Ben glanced briefly at Paul, gauging whether it was alright to proceed.   A slight nod from the doctor gave him permission to do what he felt he had no other choice in doing.

"Joe, Tom Withers died this afternoon," he said, trying to give the information in smaller, more manageable pieces.

At first there was no reaction and Ben was convinced he was going to repeat what he had just said.   But his fears seemed a little premature, when all of a sudden, the words seemed to register on Joe's face.  Joe's healthy tanned skin lost its pallor and Ben was worried that his son was on the verge of fainting.

Adam and Hoss stood and prepared to help their brother when motioned to do so.    They watched the mix of emotions beginning to emerge on Joe's face and would give anything to not have Joe have to face this now.

"Died?" Joe said, barely a whisper.     He frowned slightly, as if the words didn't make sense to him.   Tom couldn't be dead.   He had tried to visit him and say he was sorry, but in the end had not found the courage to face his friend.    They couldn't be telling him he was 'dead'.   That would mean that he would never get that chance.

Then almost involuntarily, Joe found himself asking a question of his own, "How?"

Out of any question, this was the one Paul and Ben dreaded the most being asked by Joe.   They would have preferred him not to know the cause of Tom's death and given him time just to the fact that the man had died.   Telling Joe how Tom had died just seemed to be drawing out the suffering and torment even further.

Paul decided it was his turn to speak.   "Joe, its not for lack of trying to help Tom.    I tried my best to heal his wounds on the outside.   But I guess that wasn't good enough.   In the end, no matter how much I tried to convince Tom that he would have a normal life again, he just couldn't see beyond the stump of an elbow where his arm used to be."

"Stop talking in riddles, doc," Joe said irritably.  He held his head in his hands, with his eyes closed as if forcing himself to hear what he did not want to.

"Tom took his own life by hanging himself," Paul said, watching Joe's face intently. "By the time I got there it was too late Joe, there was nothing I could do.  I am truly sorry."

"_Hanged himself" Joe said inwardly.  His hands reaching up and feeling around his own neck in memory of how that had felt.   He could distinctly remember how the course rope dug into the soft skin and how it chafed the skin red and raw.   The rope burn had taken a considerable amount of time before the mark faded altogether, but in the back of his mind, Joe would always have an invisible scar._

Ben saw his son's hands nervously encircling his neck, remembering what it felt like to have a rope tightened and bringing up old ghosts from the past.    Until he saw this action, he hadn't thought that Joe would have felt that kind of connection with Tom.  It pained him to think that Joe was not only being told of a friend's death, but also reminded of events that had happened in his own life that he had tried so hard to forget.

During that time in captivity, the noose forced over Joe's head and the rope tightened when he was feeling his weakest.    He couldn't imagine what horrors or torments were going through Tom's mind to make him think of taking his own life was a way out of his pain and suffering.

Joe looked at his father, as if searching for answers.   His green eyes wide with shock and mirroring every flicker of emotion he was feeling inside.   His face had not regained any of its lost colour and Ben was still concerned that Joe's body would collapse from the well of emotions and exhaustion.  He tried to reach out to his son in case he should falter at any moment.

All in the room where completely unprepared for Joe's next move, which was to give an animalistic cry of outrage and run out of the house in the direction of the barn.    He didn't know what he was running from;  maybe the past, maybe himself, from the voices in his head and the images that plagued his dreams.  It  didn't really matter.

Joe reached the barn door and found without mounting one of the horses or escaping on foot, there was nowhere else to run.    He was trapped, but this time it was not within a bad dream.   He wanted to lash out at the world that felt so unfair.    Without thinking of the consequences, lashing out is exactly what he did, with his left clenched fist.

Ben had told Paul and his boys to stay put while he followed Joe out to the barn.   He didn't want Joe dealing with all of this pain on his own.   He was only half way across the yard when he heard Joe give a scream of utter rage.   He quickened his pace but was surprised and alarmed to see his son sitting on the barn floor, just inside the door, nursing a bleeding and rapidly swelling left hand.

It only took a minute to look from his son to the barn door and work out what had happened.   With his scream of anger and frustration, Joe had lashed out, and tried to deal with some of that anger by slamming his fist into the solid wooden barn door.  The result, the door had caused his knuckles to bleed profusely and his hand begin to darken with bruising.

"Oh, Joe!" Ben said, kneeling beside his son and trying to assess how much damage he had done to his hand.   Luckily Paul was still inside the house and would be able to remedy the situation.  

With just the two of them together, and all of his energy spent, Joe found himself leaning heavily against his father's chest and giving into the tide of emotions that he had been trying to suppress.   His grieving process over Tom had started but had such a long way to go.  

The pain of Tom's loss would be felt by the family for quite a while to come, and probably by no one more so than Joe.   Ben just prayed that Joe had the strength to forgive himself for the accident like others had tried to tell him.    Ben embraced his son and let him have as much comfort and security as he sought.   He used a gentle, soothing hand to stroke Joe's chestnut curls, murmuring soft words of encouragement and love.

Although he considered his sons to be grown now, there were still times that they showed themselves to be his little children.   Vulnerable, in times of weakness or pain.   Ready to accept his fatherly embrace and listen to his words of wisdom when they sought answers to questions about things that happened that were out of their control.

"Pa," Joe whispered in a soft voice as he tried to regain his composure.

"Yes, Joseph," Ben said, waiting until Joe was ready to talk.    

"I think I broke my hand," Joe said sheepishly, giving a wince of pain to further support his diagnosis.   The bleeding had slowed, but his hand was now throbbing mercilessly and he could scarcely hide his gasps of pain from his father.

Ben cautiously inspected the bleeding hand as best he could without causing his son too much discomfort.   The knuckles were indeed a bloody mess and the back of his hand and fingers where now discolouring with dark bruising.   "Come on Joe, let's get some use out of Paul while he is still here."

Ben stood up and then gently pulled his son into a standing position.   Joe's exhaustion and grief left him a little unsteady on his feet, swaying slightly so that Ben grasped him around the waist to prevent him from losing his balance.

Ben had a firm but gentle grip in the middle over his left arm and held it out in front so that he could keep an eye on it as they made their way back towards the house.    Adam, Hoss and Paul had been standing in the door way, awaiting a signal from Ben that their assistance was needed.   They all gasped at the sight of Joe leaning heavily against his father, seemingly barely able to stand on his feet and sporting a bleeding hand.

"What happened?" Adam asked, clearing a path for his father to lead Joe into the living room and settle his son on the couch for Paul to take a closer look.   

"Fetch a blanket out of that closet there please, Hoss," Ben now said, noting that Joe was practically asleep as he was laid down on the couch.   His face was still reddened from his crying and his brow still frowned frequently from the pain throbbing in his hand.   

Hoss did as his father asked and draped a warm blanket over the now slumbering form of his younger brother.   He guessed at the cause of Joe's swollen hand, but would wait for his father to explain.

"I might give him something to help his sleep be a little deeper Ben, before I examine that hand.  No doubt it is already causing him some considerable pain.   That way I can look at it without causing him too much discomfort," Paul suggested.    A nod of consent was received from Ben, not taking his eyes from Joe's face.

Paul mixed the sedative for Joe, making it a little stronger than normal.   He walked over to the couch and pondered how successful they were going to be in administering it to the sleepy patient.  "How do you suggest we approach this, Ben?"

"I'll do it, Pa," Hoss offered, thinking it was the most useful thing he had done all night.  He took the milky liquid from Paul and knelt beside the couch, ready to rouse his slumbering brother long enough to take the medicine and ease his pain.

Adam and Hop Sing went about gathering a basin of warm, salty water and some cloths, ready for when Paul was ready to examine Joe's hand.    

"Joe," Hoss whispered in his brother's ear.   "Can you sip this for Hoss?" he asked, lifting Joe's head a little, hoping the motion would awaken Joe sufficiently to comply.

"Too tired, Hoss," came the mumbled reply from Joe as he tried to lay his head down again.   His eyes never opened long enough to even look at his brother.

"I know Joe, I know, but I just need you to do this for me, and then you can sleep," Hoss continued.   To Paul's astonishment and Ben's delight, Joe seemed to respond to Hoss and allowed the cup to be brought to his lips.    He started to pull away from the strange taste, but a few more words of encouragement again from Hoss and Joe resumed swallowing the small amount of fluid.

"You did good short shanks," Hoss whispered, laying Joe's head back down on the comfortable couch.   "Go ahead and sleep now, old Hoss will be here when you wake up, I promise."  Joe's only response was a sigh and to turn his face towards the back of the couch away from his crowd of worried family and friends.

"I thought we were going to have a much tougher fight than that on our hands," Paul chuckled as Joe's face began to relax into deep sleep.    They all waited in silence for a moment, looking down at Joe while he slept and each of them feeling saddened by the cruel turn of events that caused this.

Ben had been holding Joe's right hand, but now felt it go limp in his own, signalling that the medicine was indeed working.  "Joseph, can you hear me?" he asked softly, wanting to make sure that Joe had fully succumbed to the effects of the sedative.     There was no response as he stroked the curls from his son's face and prayed that he would be allowed a few hours respite from bad dreams to gain some needed rest.

Paul now motioned for the basin of tepid, salty water and went about seeing to Joe's hand.   While the family watched his administrations, Ben explained what had happened to Joe out at the barn.

"Joe smashed his fist against the barn door," Ben informed them, Paul noting that it would have taken a great amount of force to damage the knuckles as badly as they were.   The hand was already becoming stiff, and Joe would no doubt have a loss of flexibility in the joints for a few weeks to come.

"He's is going to have one mighty sore hand for a few weeks, Ben," Paul said as he finished cleaning away the blood and dirt to examined just how much the hand had swollen.   The bruising was already becoming visible, in shades of motley purple and black.     

"It is going to take him some time to get over Tom's death," Ben commented.    "He still blames himself for the accident.  What is something like this going to do to him?"

"We will be there for him Pa, every step of the way," Hoss assured him.   "Do you think he will be able to go on the cattle drive with us with his hand all busted like that?"

Ben looked towards Paul for his diagnosis of Joe's condition and whether or not the cattle drive was a good or bad idea.

Paul was finishing wrapping Joe's injured hand as he spoke.   "Well, his hand is not going to be of much use to him for that time Ben.   But the alternative in leaving him behind on his own at the ranch is probably going to do more harm than good.   He will have too much time on his hands to brood over what has happened, and before you return he will have sunk into a deeper state of depression.   It might be difficult to drag him back from the brink of that."

"Well, I think we should consult Joe on the matter anyhow.   If he wants to stay home, I will understand, but maybe one of us should stay with him if that happens, just to make sure he doesn't let himself go while we are away.    If he still wants to come, we will just have to accommodate him the best way we can and let him do what his hand will allow him to do," Ben stated.

"We have one more difficult task for Joe even before the cattle drive begins," Adam now interjected into the conversation.   "Tom's funeral," he state d, answering the unspoken question on everyone's lips.

Ben ran a hand down his face as he tried to think of the best way to approach that subject at all.  There was no doubt there was going to be a funeral for Tom.    Ben had paid for it himself and had arranged for it to take place a day before the cattle drive, which was the day after tomorrow.    What sort of mixed feelings he would receive from Joe on that matter he could only hasten a guess.   

"Let's wait until tomorrow as see how Joe is fairing shall we," Paul suggested, noting the concern everyone held for Joe's emotional state of mind should he wish to attend Tom's funeral.   "I will come back out tomorrow to check on Joe and his hand.   We can cross that bridge when we come to it."

Paul bid the family good bye and told Ben not to be too concerned by any unusual behaviour from Joe.   In times of great distress such as a traumatic death, people often acted differently than their loved ones might have thought.   He reminded them of all the mood swings that Joe might display over the next few days and warned that because the accident had now turned into a death, these mood swings might become even more intense and sporadic.

While Ben saw Paul out, Adam and Hoss between them moved Joe to his bedroom, his sleep deep enough that he didn't stir at being lifted from the couch.    They settled him in his bed, keeping him warm and making sure that his injured hand was above the covers and would not be rolled on during the night if he became restless.

TO BE CONTINUED…………….

Author Notes:

I added a lot more content into this chapter that wasn't originally intended, therefore it has ended a little earlier than I planned.    The next chapter will see the unfolding of the cattle

drive and some events that will become a critical part of the story later on.

If you haven't guessed by now, yes the figure in the saloon was Butch Thomas – how he is there and out of prison is yet to be explained in detail in later chapters as to why he was there – that too will be explained further down the track.    It was a last minute idea to

have him there and mostly due to having future involvement using the stranger as well.

I know Joe normally would feel his presence in a room, but for the moment he hasn't been aware of Butch being there.    The remarks about the rope and hanging are supposed to be a connection to the first part of the story False Witness and be an integral

link between the events that Joe experienced in that story and events in this new one.

If you read between the lines there are GIANT hints as to some things that are going to 

occur in the following parts of the story.   Some of them are deliberate, others are not and

there was no other way do it.

I apologize for the delay in updating, but as you can probably appreciate, this story is getting rather complicated.  In the following two chapters there will be between 8 to 10 new characters introduced with a name and a background for each.    So please bear

with me as I try and take some time with certain parts so this author does not become

confused before the readers.

And please take notes if you wish, there will be a written exam at the end of the story

to see how much you have remembered (Just Kidding)   LOL.

Please review and let me know how I am going.   The next chapter is already in progress

and promises loads of new surprises in store.

Hope you are enjoying the drama so far.

JULES


	3. Chapter 3

**THE GUNFIGHTER**

**This story is a sequel to False Witness and although it would be possible to read on it's own, you will need to know the background about the character Butch Thomas and how he and the Cartwright family came to know of each other.**

**I have changed my mind slightly for this story and it will take place only 3 years after Thomas was sent to prison for the attempted murder and kidnapping of Little Joe Cartwright.  That makes Joe 19 years old for this story and suits the theme of the story a little better.  I was originally going to have it five years afterwards at the age of 21 years.**

**Hope you enjoy this one as much as False Witness:**

**_Three years earlier these few words echoed in Joe Cartwright's memory:_**

****

**"_SOMEDAY I WILL COME BACK.   YOU AND I WILL MEET AGAIN _**

**_– I PROMISE"_**

**_and_****_ now the story turns another page and continues:_**

It wasn't until late into the next day that Joe awoke from his drug induced sleep.    His awakening was slow and he felt incredibly groggy and unfocused.  

Hop Sing came into the room and offered some food.     Joe choked down what he could, but then just resolved to sipping the hot coffee and hoping it would give allow some sort of feeling back into his body.

"Where is everyone, Hop Sing?" Joe asked, as he tried to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position against the back of the bed.    He thought it odd that he hadn't seen his father come into the room yet that morning or his brothers for that matter.   They may have come in while he was still sleeping, but it was unusual that he hadn't seen any of them during the time that he was awake.

"Very busy, Lil Joe," Hop Sing replied.  "Getting ready for big drive in couple of days.   Many things to pack in wagon."

Joe nodded his head in acknowledgement.   Seemed like a plausible excuse for why everyone was preoccupied.   Joe couldn't help but feel that Hop Sing wasn't telling him everything that they were doing.  He leaned his head back against the head board and allowed his eyes to drift close.

Without even realising it, Joe had fallen asleep again, the residual effects of the strong sedative still trying to work out of his body.    His arms and legs still felt incredibly heavy, though there was no pain in his hand that he had been able to detect.  Joe had guessed that the reason he had slept so late was due to Doc Martin giving him something to help sleep.   He could vaguely recall Hoss's voice in the back of his mind and drinking from a cup, but every after that was a blank.   The medication was a least allowing him a little relief in that area.

Joe didn't quite know how much time has lapsed between him sipping his coffee and falling back to sleep sitting up.   The next thing that he knew was Ben gently waking him, a little concerned that Joe still seemed so tired.

"Hello son," Ben said with a warm smile.  "Tired?" 

"I was before, Pa," Joe admitted as he now tried to pull himself out of the cloud of sleepiness.  "I still feel kind of strange."

"Well that's to be expected I suppose.    How is your hand today?" Ben asked, eyeing the bandages resting on the top of the covers.

"I don't feel any pain at the moment, but that will soon change," Joe said.  "I don't know why I hit the barn door like that Pa.   It was just like I couldn't control what my hand was doing.   All I knew is that I wanted to hit something.   What to hit seemed irrelevant at the time," he explained, a little embarrassed at his childish behaviour.

"Joe, if you feel up to it, there is something we need to discuss," Ben said in a more serious tone.   He pulled the chair up closer to the bed, wanting to approach the topic of Tom's funeral as subtly as he could.

"Alright," Joe replied in a non-committing tone.    He could see his father was struggling with how to bring up whatever the topic of discussion was going to be about.   It must be something about Tom Withers.

"Tom's funeral is tomorrow," Ben said and paused, allowing his son as much time as he needed to accept that little bit of information.  "There will be a memorial service at the church that I have arranged and then there will be a small gathering at the churchyard for the burial."

"And your question is?" Joe said, his voice becoming a little harsher than Ben was at first expecting.  Hostility was not how he thought his son would react.    Tears and grief like yesterday, but not anger.

"Well I wanted to let you know that I can arrange for the buggy to be hitched up if you felt like attending the church and if you still were not feeling up to riding your own horse," Ben started to explain, but that was as far as he got.

Despite the heaviness he had felt a few minutes ago, the mention of attending a church service for Tom's funeral, gave Joe renewed energy through adrenaline.   He retreated from the comforting hand of his father and now stood on the opposite side of the bed, his face reddening with anger by the minute.  Ben was unsure if the anger was directed at him or at something else.

"And you want me to go there and pretend like God has all of the answers," Joe stammered, barely able to get the words out for the anger he felt.

Ben frowned a little at first.   He thought Joe might be possibly mad at him, or about Tom's death or the accident or a million other things at this moment.   But being angry at God and the church seemed a little out of the ordinary.

"Nobody is going make you go Joseph if you don't need to.   But part of the healing process is to face these things and try to cope the best we can.   It may not seem fair at the moment, but it is things such as death that makes us stronger within ourselves," Ben said gently, not wanting to add to Joe's heightened temper.

"Good, because I am not going and that's final," Joe shouted.    "And another thing, this isn't just about Tom's funeral.   I mean I am not going to set another foot back in that church as long as I live."

"What have you got against the church Joe?" Ben asked, curious to know why his son felt so let down by an institution that had long had strong support from this family.

"Pa, you have always taught me that people go to church to believe and have find faith in God and his teachings," Joe said, forcing himself to take the time to explain.   "Where is he now, Pa?"   He couldn't help though but show his frustration by clenching his fists until the knuckles were almost white.

"God is always here Joseph, though he doesn't always stand before us in a visual way.   He comes to us in prayers and when he go to church and read of all the good things he has done," Ben said, trying to put into a few sentences, the essence of what the Christian faith had come to mean to him.

"Yeah, well Pa, I am sorry, but I don't see it that way.  And I think it will take a great deal of convincing before I do," Joe said, turning his face away, he didn't want to be having this conversation at all, nor see his father watching him so torn up on a subject that was so difficult to deal with or put into words.

Ben wasn't to be deterred by his son's despondent attitude though, walking up behind him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, not as a father, but as a friend.   "Sometimes, Joseph, we tend to lose sight of the things most important to us in life.   Family, friends, things that really matter.   But then something like this comes along and tears at our very soul."

Joe wanted so much to lean into that hand resting on his shoulder and find some sort of respite from all of the mixed emotions that were plaguing him.  But to do that would cause him to want to hide away from things such as death and pain.    Instead, he turned to face his father so that the contact of the hand was lost.

"I don't understand any of this Pa, maybe I don't want to," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You have to find your faith son.   That spark within us that shows us the way home when the road ahead is at its darkest and there is nobody there to guide us on the journey," Ben said, his voice gentle and soothing.

"Maybe it isn't there to find, Pa," Joe said, looking up into his father's warm gaze.    He was surprised not to see anger or hurt reflecting back at him for the words that he had said.    

"It's there Joseph, believe me.   But I think for the moment, it is hidden so deep inside you that it makes you doubt yourself and those around you," Ben said, brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down Joe's face.

Joe had turned his face downwards again, until he felt his father's hand gentle under his chin and tilting his face up towards the voice that was speaking to him.

"I will always be there to help you when you need it Joseph.   Your brothers too.  We will be the ones to guide you when you feel vulnerable and alone.  We will be there to help you find your faith and help you overcome this torment and grief that you insist on dishing out on yourself.

"I know what you're asking me to do, and something tells me that I should be going to farewell Tom.  Another part keeps reminding me of every moment I spent in that shed alone with him, unable to do anything, until it makes me physically sick to my stomach," Joe admitted.

"Sometimes the only way to deal with those sort of emotions and memories is to face them," Ben offered.    "I know it's hard Joseph and you have faced more in your young years than I ever wanted you to.   Just think it over and do what your heart tells you.  That's all I ask."

"Alright, Pa, I will.   But I can't make any solemn promises," Joe said.    The young man now walked the short distance back to his bed and sat down on the far end, holding onto the bed banister with his good hand.   He looked deep in thought and an array of expressions played out on his youthful, handsome face.

"And Joseph……," Ben said finally as he went to the door and prepared to leave.   

Joe looked at his father and waited.

"I will be here to talk about what happened to Tom whenever you feel you are ready."    

Joe swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat at that point.   He nodded his head in acknowledgement, not trusting his voice to speak.    He didn't know exactly how long that would be.   Maybe he would never be able to face up to what happened or ready to talk about it with anyone.

Ben closed the door behind him and left Joe to himself and his thoughts for a while.  He would no doubt be up in a little while, ready with a tray of food and to see how Joe was fairing.

For the longest time after his father left, or at least it seemed like a long time, Joe didn't move from his seated position on the bed.   He tried to block out the images of Tom and the accident that had returned as soon as his father had left him alone.    In his mind, he went over the harsh words he had spoken to his father about the church and attending Tom's funeral.

Had he meant everything he said about loosing his faith in God and the church and its teachings?  On the surface, his wounded feelings said he did mean those things.   As he thought about everything that had happened to him over the past 19 years of his life.    The most important events anyway.  His mother's tragic and premature death.   Those doubts in God and the church only resonated out all the louder.

Joe pulled himself awkwardly up from the bed, noticing that the twinge in his hand had become increasingly harder to ignore.  The pain was now a consistent and undeniable throb.   He opened up the window to his room, allowing the thin curtain to dance about in the strong breeze.

He sat down in a chair in front of that, looking out of the roof of the kitchen towards the barn and the adjoining bunk-house.   He thought back to a time not so long ago where he had stood in front of this very window, deep in thought.   The decision at that time had been whether or not he was going to testify against Danny Griffiths and what had happened to him at the hands of Butch Thomas.

Where the circumstances different this time? Perhaps.   The consideration of what to do, no less daunting.   The choice then had been to help the courts decide if a man should go to jail for his crimes.    His decision today canvassed around his ability to attend Tom Withers funeral and say goodbye one last time.   No, the choices were worlds apart he finally decided.   And perhaps the pain this time was even harder than it was back then.

The breeze was cool and mild, ruffling the soft curls that lay beside his ears.   Almost as if the wind was whispering softly to him.   The young man had slipped into a deep sleep though whilst sitting in the chair and was unaware of the gentle kiss being delivered by Mother Nature.  

Ben appeared at the doorway and quietly opening the door.   He had suspected that Joe might be asleep, but assumed it would be in his bed, rather than in a chair by the window.   The emotional toll on Joe over the past week had been insurmountable and was probably going to get worse with Tom's funeral mere hours away.

Ben set the tray of food down on the bedside table, careful not to disturb Joe's photograph of his mother, Marie.  No doubt his most treasured possession aside from Cochise.  He had been concerned about how much of the food Joe might eat before entering the room.   Now that he saw his son asleep in the chair, the tray would be returned to the kitchen untouched.

Joe had not moved since Ben had entered the room and showed no sign of hearing his father's footsteps upon the wooden floor as he approached the window and chair.    Ben had no intentions of waking his son.   Respite of any kind had been scarce of late and any sleep that Joe had been able to gain from exhaustion and medication, was often marred by dark dreams.  

Ben walked to stand in front of the chair and gaze down at his sleeping son.   "Don't build barricades around yourself that I can't get through.   I want to help you.   Let me in Joe, you don't have to do this all alone.  Please son, don't shut me out."

Ben found himself feeling much as he had done a few years ago when Joe had closed himself off to the rest of the family.   He refused to let them help him back then, just like he was doing now.   Withdrawing into himself until there was nothing of the Joe Cartwright left that they recognized.    Those series of events had taken his son to the brink of mental and physical exhaustion.   

"I swear that isn't going to let that happen to again Joseph," gently rubbing his son's limp hand between his own.

At that moment, Joe stirred in his sleep, "What did you say, Pa?" came the sleepy response, not opening his eyes, but recognizing his father's voice.    He had not heard any of his father's comments, but rather reacted to the deep, soothing tones of Ben's voice that had always been a source of comfort and warmth to him.

"Come on sleepy-head, let's get you settled into a bed.   You look very uncomfortable sleeping like that and more than likely you will have a kink in your neck by morning if you stay there much longer," Ben said with a smile.

Ben assisted his drowsy, mostly unco-operating son to his feet, the young man swaying unsteadily in a drunken pose.   His father looped a supporting arm around his slim waist and allowed Joe to lean heavily against his shoulder as they made the short distance to the bed.   

He used one hand to throw the bed covers back from the mattress and quickly laid his son down, feeling Joe becoming more and more lax in his grasp and beginning to sag.    Ben held Joe's head gently up and placed two thick and soft pillows beneath his crown of curls, laying him back down and rearranging the bed clothes once more.

Joe must have been truly and deeply asleep not to comprehend any of this happening to him.   As his head rested on the fresh softness of the pillow, he let out a loud contented sigh and then turned over on his side, burrowing further into the warmth of the covers.

He momentarily grimaced and gasped out in pain, obviously catching his injured hand whilst moving about.   The pain brought him back to a semi-conscious state and he opened his eyes blearily to see a concerned figure standing beside the bed.

"Can I have a drink of water please?" Joe asked, pulling himself up a little on his right elbow and gratefully accepting the glass of water handed to him.    He offered his thanks with a small grunt before touching the rim of the glass to his lips and letting the cool refreshing liquid run down his throat.   It felt incredibly good and he savoured the taste and the coolness.

Ben accepted the glass back when his son was finished, happy to note that Joe didn't seem to register the cloudiness of the water.   He had diluted a satchel of pain killer into the water that Paul had prescribed and let at the house the day before.    There was no need to let Joe feel pain if he didn't have to.   The relief from the pain in his hand might allow the sleep to be more restful and undisturbed as well.

Joe now lay back down on the bed and sank once more into the pillows.   Ben watched his son fall back asleep and prayed that he would be left in peace for a time.   Retrieving the tray, but leaving the glass of orange juice and the cup of hot coffee in case Joe woke later, Ben left the room, this time allowing the door to be slightly ajar.   He wanted to be alerted if Joe had anymore unwelcome bad dreams.

That is where Joe remained for a great deal of the afternoon.   Hoss had come in twice to check on his younger brother, on both occasions he had been sleeping peacefully and deeply.  The covers had ended up twisted and down around the young man's waist, leaving his bare chest exposed.   The day was mild enough, even warm so the bigger man didn't risk waking his brother by trying to ostracise the tangled covers from his brother's slumbering form.

"He might sleep through most of the evening, Pa," Hoss said to his father as he descended the staircase on the second occasion.   "Won't do him any harm though, he looks plum worn out."

"Thanks for checking up on him for me, Hoss," Ben said knowing that he didn't really have to say it.  "Just makes a change from me all day, in case he was already awake," he added with a chuckle.

Joe did finally wake, an hour after supper time, but passed on the opportunity to dine with his family at the table downstairs.   Instead he chose to eat sparsely from a plate in his room prepared by Hop Sing.   His clumsiness in attempting to use the cutlery more heightened by the injury to his left hand.   

Adam had been approaching his younger brother's door with a basin of warm, salty water to soak his injured hand in when he heard a number of curses coming from within.  Whilst not approving of Joe's choice in words, the frustration causing them was evident in Joe's tired voice.

Adam had entered the room just in time to see Joe drop a piece of meat from a fork grasped awkwardly in his right hand for the four time in a row.   

"I can't do this!" Joe said dejectedly.

The young man's anger peaked and he threw the laden fork down onto the china plate, wincing at the sound that resulted, giving a silent prayer in thanks that the plate had not shattered into pieces.  By now, Joe had lost his appetite and had no intention of consuming any more from the tray Hop Sing had provided.

"Need some help?" Adam's voice asked from the doorway.

From the sudden and startled look on Joe's face as he turned towards his older brother, it was clear that he hadn't heard or seen his brother come into the room.    His defences were immediately marshalled together against admitting that he might need assistance of any kind from his family or anyone else.

"No thanks!" came the curt reply.   A little more harshly than originally intended, but once spoken, the words couldn't be undone.

With a frowned look on his face and almost at the point of having something sharp to say in return, Adam ignored the comments and walked over to place the basin of water on the bedside table on the opposite side of the bed.   Joe was already placing the tray on the one closest to the door.

Adam could see the curious, but still wary look from his brother towards the bowl of water.   He wanted to know if there was another reason for the water, or just away of approaching a difficult topic of conversation he wanted to brooch.  

"Hop Sing sent it up, with orders from Doc Martin that you had to soak your hand in his for at least half an hour," Adam said before Joe got a chance to voice any objections.

"What's in it?" Joe asked, leaning over it and noticing the steam permeating from the top of the water.

"It is just hot water with some salt to help clean out the marks on your knuckles and hand," Adam replied.  "Nothing more, I promise.    Just meant to ease the pain in your hand."    Adam wished he had something so easily that would ease the other hurts within his brother.   He doubted any such remedy existed except time and maybe a whole lot of understanding.

"Set it down on that small stool over there next to the chair by the window, please," Joe asked politely.  "I have had enough of lying in this bed for the time being.   I might sit for a while and enjoy the breeze through the window."

"Sure thing," Adam said with a smile, glad to have his brother being a little more social about the whole situation.  "Need anything else while you are sitting there?" he asked.

"No thanks, the coffee Pa left has gone cold, but it might give me an excuse to make it downstairs for a fresh cup in a little while," Joe returned.

"If you do, I would be willing to share a cup with you out on the verandah," Adam offered, hoping it might open up the way for Joe to talk to him.    About anything, but mostly the funeral tomorrow and Tom Withers.

"I'll think about it Adam," Joe said, the walls of defensiveness quickly regrouping and beginning to build in around him again.  He knew his family meant well and were only trying to help out as best they could without coming right out and saying so.   He just wasn't ready to talk and he didn't have a good enough reason to explain why.   It was just a cold hard feeling down inside that prevented him from doing so.

Joe sat down in the chair and started to unravel the bandages from his injured hand.  The bruising now stood out in stark contrast against the paler skin.    Deep rivers of blue-black mixed together to form a motley coloured array of discoloured tissue from wrist to the first joint of each finger.   The colour was darkest at the knuckles which had suffered the harsh impact of the hard wooden door.   

"Still a little bit of swelling there, Joe," Adam said softly as he examined the hand without his brother jerking it away to conceal the extent of the damage.   He was surprised when Joe allowed him to help with the remaining bandaging.  "The water should help soothe that and alleviate the throbbing," he said, knowing that was what Joe had been experiencing.

"Stupid, huh?" Joe said with a grin, knowing that his brother would think his actions foolish at best.

"I am not here to judge you, Joe," Adam said, his eyes warm and caring.   "I bet that door was rather hard, though," he added, trying to infuse some light heartedness to the memory of it all.

"You have no idea," Joe said, laughing softly and appreciating his brother's reserved decision about what he had done.   What he didn't need right now was a long lecture about doing the right thing and using common sense.  In a moment of unrestrained grief like that, there was no rationality to it.

"Let your hand soak, I will come back and collect the basin later if you haven't already come downstairs for that cup of coffee," Adam stated as he left the room.

Joe never did go back downstairs that evening.   Not even to share the cup of coffee with Adam.   Sitting there in the chair, thinking about the funeral that was to occur the next day and whether or not he should attend.   The stinging sensation from his hand in the salty water and recalling in his mind the exact moment when he had struck out in grief at the barn door.   

Adam returned for the basin of water, deciding to bring the coffee to Joe.   His brother was still awake, if not drowsing in the chair.   He was grateful for the hot liquid and the silent company.   Very little words were exchanged between them.   Adam was astute enough to realise his brother's silent need for company without comment or suggestions and promises that he understood.

Adam left the room once the coffee was drained.   They would talk more in the morning, if Joe was of a mind to.   He bid his brother good night.  Joe had promised that he would stay where he was by the window for a little while longer before retiring to bed.

Joe didn't want to admit to his brother that he didn't think sleep would be achievable that night.   He didn't want to cause his family any further heartache or concern, so he kept such thoughts to himself.

As twilight turned into darkness, the shadows in the yard where not the only ones to torment Joe.  He dozed in the chair only to find the memory of Tom and the accident coming back to haunt him for yet another night.   He didn't want to sleep.   Sleep meant he had to relive and remember.  To remember meant he couldn't forget.

********************************************************

By dawn's early light the next morning, Ben knocked lightly upon Joe's door, surprised to hear a soft 'Come in' from the other side.  He had thought Joe to be still asleep and had no intention of waking him unless Joe had changed his mind about attending Tom Withers funeral. 

Ben was dismayed to see the dark circles of fatigue under his son's eyes and the tired lines etched in his face, signalling just how much sleep Joe hadn't had.   Obviously he had been avoiding it again.    

"How are you today son?" Ben asked gently, knowing how silly the question sounded.

"Not good, Pa," Joe admitted, he had been silently shedding tears for Tom Withers and he couldn't hide it any longer.   The pain was just too much.   He had lost a friend and he had no idea of how to express that grief and anguish.

Joe rose from the chair he had occupied, feeling all the stiffness in his protesting muscles from so long with little movement or circulation.  He waited until the pins and needles sensation decreased in his legs.  His father stood in the room, ready to offer what support or comfort he could.    Joe just didn't know what he should be feeling like. 

"I just feel so lost as to what to do," Joe said slowly, letting his first true feelings from within come out to his family.  He certainly wasn't ready to share everything yet.   "Tell me what to do, Pa.  How long before it starts to go away from here?" he asked, putting his hand over his heart.   "When does it get easier?"

With this admission, it seemed an impossible thing now to stop the tears that had been welling up inside since he heard of Tom's death.   Ben saw his son's face begin to crumple into grief.  He guessed at what was to come.

Ben opened his arms and allowed Joe to bury his face into his broad shoulder and take whatever strength he sought from his strong embrace.   As Joe cried hard against his father's leather vest, Ben wrapped his arms tighter around his son, his own tears beginning to come forth in mourning for Tom Withers but mostly for the utter sense of loss in friendship that Joe was going through.   

Joe blamed himself for Tom's accident and the fact that the man had fallen to the temptation of taking his own life had been the last straw for his son's guilt and self reproach.    Of course nobody believed that Joe could have done anything different that day at the timber yard.  Hopefully as time healed the wounds and scars, Joe would come to realise than within himself.   They seemed to be a long way from that day on this morning.

"Don't be shamed by your tears son.   They are what cleanses our soul and makes us whole.  We all need to cry once in a while, even men.   Those who say they have never cried before cannot truly appreciate the loss of someone close or the pain of the empty void left when they are gone," Ben said.

Ben led an unprotesting Joe over towards the bed and sat down, his arm still securely and protectively wrapped around his son.   He wanted to say all the right words to make his son feel better, but to be truthful he didn't know all of the answers himself.   He had lost a friend in Tom Withers too.   He had a sense of loss as did the rest of the family, just not on the same level as Joseph.

"I don't know how long it takes to make the pain go away, Joe," Ben said very gently.  "I can tell you that the pain does ease.   It might not always go away forever.    Death is something different for everyone of us.   There are no clear directions or time lines set."

"I still feel the pain of your mother's death every day.   Sometimes it will be just by walking into a room and a brief scent of her perfume will fill the room.    Other times I look at the photographs down on the mantel piece and remember each of your mother's and the wonderful moments I have shared with each of them," he continued, giving what little advise he deemed himself able to give.

As he spoke, he soothingly began rubbing his son's back in a circular motion.   Trying to bring him relief from his taunt muscles and comfort in his touch.

Joe's head was resting against Ben's shoulder and from sound of his rhythmic breathing and silence, he assumed the fatigue and tiredness had one out against the young man.   The emotional stress was just so overwhelming and that coupled with a sleepless night had seen him drift off into an exhausted slumber.

Now looking down at his son's sleeping face and brushing away the curly locks from his forehead, he placed a gentle kiss on Joe's forehead.   "And sometimes, I pray to God so hard for every moment that he allows me to cherish what I have left of them.  Adam, Hoss and you Joseph."

Ben laid Joe's slumbering form down, hoping that by the time he woke, the funeral would be over and the time for healing could begin.   Adam, Hoss and himself would go and represent the family.  They had offered to pay for the funeral, seeing as how Tom had no living family that they knew of.   There would be few people in attendance, but every man deserved at least one kind word said over his grave.   To say that his life wasn't in vain and had meant something to others.

The three Cartwrights left about mid-morning to head into Virginia City.  Hop Sing had promised to take good care of the sleeping younger Cartwright.   Ben had conveyed his concerns for Joe's emotional state.   

**************************************************

The funeral service was to be a simple grave side one, conducted with a few witnesses and the minister from the church.   Ben had brief discussions upon his arrival with the priest and the reason for Joe's non-appearance.  

Roy Coffee had attended, because he had known Tom Withers for a long time and his friendship with the Cartwrights.   There was Sam from the Bucket of Blood saloon where Tom had been coming regularly for years, but more recently had been coming more and more frequently.  Often late at night when there was no one else about to stare at his disability or his missing limb.

A cold, grey day greeted the mourners and the casket as it was laid over the open hole in the Virginia City cemetery.    Just the right atmosphere to bid farewell to a hard working man who had decided that he had completed his journey upon this earth.   

Premature to a lot of people who deemed him still to have a lot more to offer society.   But now when everything was set aside and the gossiping about his death was forgotten, all that remained was what accomplishments the man had made throughout that life.   In Tom's life, there had been many.   

Perhaps not from a point of view of more famous people or others who had achieved great feats in their own lives.   But certainly none the less important.   Tom had always helped others, and accepted very little in return, including reward or praise.   He just saw things as they were and knew there were jobs to be done and that was that.  Nothing complicated about it or demanding any more recognition than that.

Adam had offered to say the eulogy on behalf of his family, and more importantly his brother.  Hoss was helping the pall-bearers lower Tom's coffin into the grave.   With there attention drawn to other things at the moment, they did not see what Ben saw a little further away.

Standing a good distance away so that others would not notice, but close enough to hear the sermon being delivered, was Joseph.    Beside his mount Cochise, his hat removed and his head bowed, seemingly in prayer.     

Joe was dressed in his black suit, with a string tie around his collar.   Obviously he had gotten ready as soon as his family had left the Ponderosa.    Ben was worried about the tug-of-war that would have ensued within his son at having made such a decision.    From here he couldn't see Joe's face clearly, but the body language conveyed the very image of tiredness and fatigue that he had seen on his face earlier.   

When he returned to the Ponderosa, Ben silently promised himself that he would make sure Joe got some rest and sleep.   Even if he had to be deceptive to do it.   Joe couldn't physically beat himself up much longer before he collapsed.    They had a cattle drive in two days and he still hadn't asked if Joe was intending to go or not.

At one point, just as Joe reached for the pommel of his saddle, ready to mount and ride away before being seen by anyone, he looked up, locking eyes with his father for a brief second.  There was an unspoken pact made between them that Ben keep his presence a secret, even from Adam and Hoss.

Words of thanks were shared amongst the mourners once the funeral service had concluded.  Handshakes were exchanged and the Cartwrights headed back towards the Ponderosa and Joe.    Ben had told his son's of his intention to make Joe get some proper rest.  He made no mention of what he had seen.   

In his heart, Ben was proud of his son for attending Tom's Funeral and hoped it would go towards Joe coming to terms with what happened.    The fact that Joe had tried to see Tom the afternoon of his death showed courage beyond his years, but also left a sense of non-closure to the idea that he never got to say goodbye face to face.  

When Ben entered the house after putting Buck away, Hop Sing was quick to tell them that Joe had already returned and was asleep again in his room.   Thankfully it looked like he wouldn't have to resort to extreme measures to get Joe to sleep.   Paul had left some extra sleeping powders in case they were required, but if Joe's sleep was a natural one, then the better for it.

It seemed that the events between father and son that morning, together with the visiting the funeral had been enough to allow Joe to rest without artificial aids.

While Joe slept upstairs, the rest of the Cartwright family together with the head foreman planned out the last few items for the cattle drive.

"I still have the task of asking Joe if he wanted to be involved," Ben spoke to Charlie.

"We have enough hands to cover for him if he decides to or if he stays behind,"

the foreman replied.

"If Joe does go with us, you and I know that he will work twice as hard as anybody else on the drive.  He will use the physical exhaustion and concentration on the herd

to try and forget," Ben stated.

"To act as if nothing happened back here at home," Adam added, knowing just how accurate his father's assumption was.

"What do you want me to tell the rest of the men, Mr Cartwright?" Charlie asked, holding his battered old hat in front of him.

"Just tell them to let Joe have some space.  I know that sounds strange when we will have nothing but miles of open grassland under our feet.  But if Joe decides to tag alone, whatever his motive, the last thing he'll want is to feel stifled.   Or have one of

us hovering over his shoulder," Ben answered.

This particular cattle drive wasn't on the usual large scale that occurred at other times during the year.  The purpose of this drive was to move a herd from a neighbouring

Property to the Ponderosa.

The weather was steadily growing warmer.  The animals needed lush grazing land and plenty of water to sustain them through the summer months.   The main difference, and probably the most concerning one, was the size of the herd they had to move.  

The herd was much bigger in number for this time of year.  And it was possible without the proper knowledge or experience to over or under calculate the number of hands required to control the animals.

If the numbers were too few, the problems that could arise spoke for themselves and might have appeared obvious, even to the untrained eye.  On the other hand, too many eager cowboys and horses could prove an equally bad disadvantage.  Or sometimes the recipe for accidents to happen.

Too many hands meant competition against each other for ranking within the group.

Instructions came from more than the trail boss and might be misunderstood or ignored altogether.

Thankfully on this drive, Ben could be reassured of a little more common sense prevailing.  All of the hands picked hand taken part in at least one drive in the past,

working for the Cartwrights.

Charlie would remain head foreman for the duration of the drive.  Adam and Hoss would be the other two men in charge to direct orders to the men.

Ben would be present and on hand should his advice be sought at any stage.  For the most part though, Ben would be along just to ensure everything ran smoothly and according to plan.

Hop Sing would be in charge of the chuck wagon and do the majority of the cooking.

A few skeleton man would remain behind at the Ponderosa to care for the homestead, horses and other livestock.

Hop Sing had packed crates and barrels with all of the food stuffs and ingredients the men would need on the trail.  There was copious amount of salted meats, bread, coffee and beans.  Rice and seasonings.

The camp food wasn't always as good as Hop Sing's meals served in the dining room of the Ponderosa.  But it was always hot and plenty of it to go around and with fresh strong coffee to wash it down with.

While the wagon was being meticulously packed according to Hop Sing's instructions,

Ben went about climbing the staircase to the bedroom of his youngest son.  If they

were going to get an early enough start in the morning, he couldn't postpone this task 

any longer.

Much to Ben's surprise, and relief, Joe wasn't asleep when he knocked on the door

and entered the room.  Instead, Joe was fully awake and dressed, and just finished closing up the bag he intended to take with him on the cattle drive.

"I know what you came here to ask, Pa," Joe said before Ben had a chance to say

a word.

"Then I won't bother asking if you had made up your mind about coming with me and

your brothers.  You seemed to have come to the right choice on your own," Ben returned, walking over and standing beside the bed and Joe.

"I don't know if it will help, but I need to try, Pa.  I can't just sit here within these for walls.  I'd go crazy before you all got back," Joe admitted.

"Just take it one day at a time, Joseph.  And don't do anything that is going to cause

more damage to your hand," Ben suggested.

With his father's comment, an interesting and puzzling notion came to Joe.  How good was he at throwing a rope over a steer with his right hand?  He had never tried

to rope with his right hand before.  No doubt he would find out after tomorrow.

By dawn's first light the next day, the yard of the Ponderosa was alive with activity.

Men were making sure their cinches were buckled properly, and the saddle girths

were tight enough around the belly of their horses.

With the amount of riding both horses and men were going to have to endure over the next couple of days;  it was essential that each rider maintain their own tack and check on it regularly.

Wear and tear were inevitable with all equipment, but an ounce of preparations was worth a hell of a lot when you pitted your strength and horse against beast.  To have the cinch come loose at the wrong time or the girth strap snap because of carelessness, could lead to a nasty accident and a lot of pain.

Ben had taught all of his boys from a very early age how to carry out rigorous checks,

and look for signs of fraying or cracking in the leather, or bending or buckling of any metal based components.   Each of them had been confident at these skills for many years and Ben had enough faith and trust that his sons did these tests before heading out on any day of riding.

With Hop Sing aboard the chuck wagon and snapping the reins on the two hitched

Horses, the riders were all ready to set out on the full-day journey ahead to meet up

with the herd.  

If the weather help up and there were no unexpected complications along the way,

Ben and his boys could be hoping that they would be coming back into the yard, very late the day after tomorrow.   If fate twisted their luck, it might turn out to be a very long few days indeed.

With hope in their hearts of a good drive, the group began to settle into a few smaller parties, the men content to share a tale or two between friends.  Hoss and Charlie travelled either side of the chuck wagon.  It wouldn't take much to have the horses spooked and suddenly take off towards diaster.

Most of the hands had given their horses a little more speed and were quite a way

in front.  They would reach the herd first and start setting up camp before the others

arrived.  Ben and Adam kept a careful eye on happenings from behind the wagon, and Joe lagged further behind still.

Partially wanting it that way, Joe was content enough to ride along at a slow pace.  

He took in the surrounding scenery and landscape.  He had ridden this way innumerable times before, but today felt as though everything was foreign and different to him.   His eyes were unfocused and barely took note of rock or blade

of grass that he and Cochise passed.

Ben fought hard against his strong desire to slow down or stop until Joe caught up.

He was continually glancing behind to try and catch a glimpse of his son.  When Joe

finally rounded a bend in the road and came within view, his slouched shoulders

and stooped posture in the saddle spoke a thousand words.

Joe had told his father that he saw coming on this drive as a way of evading the accusing voices in his head.  Looking at his son now, Ben couldn't help but think that 

Joe was going to find it just as difficult to ignore the emptiness and guilty out there.

Joe saw Ben and Adam deliberately slow their own pace as if to wait for him to catch up.  Although he appreciated their concern, he wasn't about to admit to wanting their help this early in the drive.

With a gentle nudge of Cochise's flanks and a jiggle of the reins, Joe showed off his riding skills by spurring his horse onwards and galloped past his father and brother.

Adam didn't see any harm in trying to keep Joe's spirits raised.   Soon, the two brothers could be seen trying to out ride each other and enjoying the breeze flying back into their faces.

Lunch was taken by a small stream and under the shade of a few trees.  Sandwiches were the order of the day, not wanting to lose any time by lighting a fire.  A hot meal and a cup of coffee would be all the more welcome at the camp tonight.

Joe had led Cochise a little further down stream and watched her take her fill of the crystal clear water.  The water was cool, but soothing and refreshing.  Joe took this

opportunity of solitude to unwrap the bandages from his injured hand.   He sat down

on the embankment and allowed the cool water to flow over his bruised hand and

scraped knuckles.

Joe tried to relax his mind and allow his thoughts to drift away on the wind. The longer his hand was submerged, the more the water eased the ache and soothed the taunt skin and muscles.

Joe was startled from his moment of peace when someone stepped on a twig behind him.  The resulting snap caused him to jump slightly, and get to is feet, turning to find

his brother Adam standing a few metres away.

"Sorry Joe, I didn't intend to sneak up on you like that," Adam apologized.

"It's alright, I was just sitting here thinking to myself, that's all," Joe said, visibly relaxing and trying to calm his racing heartbeat.   He had learned to dislike people

coming up behind him unannounced.

"Something wrong with your hand, Joe?" Adam asked, trying to get a look at the injury.  He had seen holding it in the water of the stream.  It must have been bothering him before they stopped for lunch.

"Nothing that you or Pa should be worried about," Joe stated firmly.  "A little stiff from 

holding onto the reins too tightly I suspect."

"Water helping much?" Adam asking, knowing that Joe would admit to as little discomfort as possible, unless absolutely necessary.

"Yeah, some," Joe said bringing the hand out from underneath his jacket.  "It will be

alright.  Go back and join the others.  I will be there in a minute."

"See you then," Adam said and began to walk back to where the other men were stopped around the wagon.  He knew his brother only too well to try and back him

into a corner.

Adam wouldn't inform his father of anything that he deemed irrelevant.  He would just

say that Joe would be back in a moment.  Inwardly he promised himself to be more 

vigilant for the next few hours over Joe's stubbornness and efforts to try and hide

his pain.   He wasn't about to baby his brother in front of his family or the other men.  However, nor was he about to stand idly by and allow Joe  to suffer in silence or discomfort.

The few riders who had opted to stay behind with the Cartwrights and the wagon now led the rest of the group away from the shaded trees and the stream.  A good deal

of the distance was already behind them.  

Joe chose to ride in company with his father and brother for the second half of the journey.  The conversation was light-hearted enough and kept Joe's thoughts and

attention focused somewhere else for a time.

It wasn't until the herd came into view that the signs of withdrawal became noticeable.

The men didn't seem to recognize any dramatic change in Joe's demeanour. But

his family certainly noted an abrupt about face and onset of a darker and sombre

mood.

Joe got off Cochise and led her over to the makeshift corral that had been constructed our of rope.  He remained distant and spoke to no-one, seemingly concerning himself with currying the pinto's coat.

When Ben walked over, he saw that Joe had been brushing the same area of Cochise's coat for more than a minute now.  Joe gazed out over the herd of cattle

but by the fading hue of twilight, he appeared more apart than ever.  Upon hearing his father's footsteps, Joe brought himself back to the present.  Setting aside the curry comb and giving Cochise an affectionate pat along her slender neck.

"Ready to have something to eat, Joe?" Ben asked casually.  It was as he asked the 

question that he noticed Joe curling and flexing the fingers of his left hand.  No doubt cramping up and still causing some stiffness after hitting the barn door.

Hoss walked over to the pair.  He had seen Joe doing a similar action when they first

arrived at the camp.  He mentioned his concerns to Adam who in turn had told his younger brother about Joe needing to soak his hand back at the stream.

Joe grabbed a plate of food and a tin cup of strong coffee and headed to the rear of

the wagon where he joined Hop Sing in a quiet meal and silent company.

Joe took a great deal of comfort in the little man's companionship.  No words had been spoken yet, but both of them knew that they didn't need to.  There was an invisible connections between the two unlikeliest of friends.  It had been there for a long time, based on trust, understanding and tolerance.

The older three Cartwrights sat together on the other side of the wagon.  Waiting to

see if Joe was willing to confide in someone considered as family, but separate enough for Joe to turn to when his father or brothers were deemed too close to 

talk to.

Ben would be surprised to learn how deep that trust and confidante had run over 

the years.  There were many subjects that they had discussed in secret or problems that they had solved away from the scrutiny or involvement of Joe's family.

Then again, there were times Ben could recall from the past where he had secretly overheard or witnessed Hop Sing offering words of wisdom and advice.  Some of

those times had been when Joe had felt the most vulnerable and confused or threatened.

"Hand giving Lil' Joe trouble," Hop Sing commented.  Obviously Joe's attempts to conceal his discomfort had been noticed more than he would have liked them to.

"Could never fool you, Hop Sing," Joe smirked as he brought the coffee cup to

his lips.  He knew his efforts to deny the pain were futile.  He just didn't want everyone worrying about him when there was a great deal of hard work before them all.   He didn't want to be considered a burden, but at the moment, that is exactly how he saw himself.

"Come into back of wagon.  Hop Sing have old-fashioned remedy to help," the little

man said.

"Thanks, Hop Sing," Joe answered in Cantonese.

"Welcome Little Joe," Hop Sing returned in his native tongue with a smile.

Joe had stripped off his shirt and washed briefly in a bucket of water to clean some of the trail dust from his neck and shoulders.  As he climbed into the back of Hop Sing's chuck wagon, he remained only clad in his trousers and hat.

From somewhere amidst the chaos and supplies, Hop Sing produced two plump and relatively soft cushions.  He placed them against the sideboard of the wagon and gestured for Joe to sit and lean back against them.

Hop Sing now showed Joe a small jar containing a crimson coloured rubbing balm or

ointment.  Joe recoiled slightly at first from the acrid aroma that assaulted his nostrils.

Upon being encouraged to try a second time, the infusion wasn't quite as overwhelming.

The mixture of spices gave off an intoxicating and distinctive smell.  Joe forced himself to relax and give into Hop Sing's caring touch as the ointment was applied.  Only a small amount to begin with, but a generous enough daub to massage over his entire hand and rub gently and deeply into the skin.

Joe shifted the weight of his shoulders against the cushions, feeling himself growing

drowsy but unable to do anything about it.

"My father teach me to make in China," Hop Sing said in English, watching his sleepy

patient carefully.  His voice was quiet but rhythmic enough to lull Joe into a sense of

security and warmth.

Joe's only response to Hop Sing's speech about the origins of the balm was to sigh contently while his upper body drifted down towards the floor of the wagon.  A few more minutes of rubbing the balm over Joe's hand and Hop Sing saw that his young charge was now asleep.  Very quietly Hop Sing moved to put the small jar back in its proper place amongst his array of pots and glass bottles.

With all the touch of an experienced parent, Hop Sing carefully placed a supporting hand behind Joe's back.  He then lifted the young man slightly and readjusted the cushions so he could lay Joe down.

When the little Cantonese man was satisfied that Joe was comfortable enough and sleeping quite soundly, he draped a warm blanket over the young man.  Making sure that his whole body was covered, especially his bare chest and shoulders.

"Lil' Joe stay here tonight," Hop Sing said softly.  "Take very good care of him," he added.

"Hop Sing need to attend to fire, but you stay here and rest.  Make sure no-one wake

you til morning," he continued.  As he exited the wagon, he darkened the covered area with the canvas flap on the outside.

It wouldn't be long until the night would turn pitch black.  There were very few stars visible tonight and the moon had yet to rise.  

Ben, Hoss and Adam saw Hop Sing leave the wagon and head towards the cooking fire.  They had overheard muffled voices coming from him and Joe from underneath the canvas roof, but nothing specific.

Curiosity now got the better of all three of them when Joe failed to follow shortly.

While Hop Sing was momentarily distracted, they stole a look inside the wagon.

"Well don't that just plum beat it all," Hoss said as his gaze came to rest on the sleeping form of Little Joe.

"Shssh," Ben motioned to his larger son, but doing exactly the same at looking at the heart-warming state of Joe.

"He looks more relaxed than he had in days," Adam commented, genuinely pleased to see his brother resting.

Ben went to reach out and adjust the blanket around his son's shoulders when he was quickly chastised from Hop Sing coming back to the wagon.

"You go let Little Joe sleep," he berated, in as loud a voice as he dared.  "You no

wake him, leave alone."

"I was only going to say good night to him, Hop Sing," Ben said in his own defense, but pleased that the little man shed so much caring on his son when he needed it most.

"Say good night in morning.  Little Joe tired.  Need rest and quiet.  Stay here tonight and Hop Sing look after."

"I know you will, Hop Sing," Ben said with gratitude in his voice.

"You go now," Hop Sing said glancing briefly at Joe to make sure his sleep remained undisturbed.  

Hoss looked towards Adam and decided to voice his opinion of the favourable treatment that Joe was being lavished with.   Normally on any other cattle drive, Joe would have to sleep on the hard rocky ground along with everyone else.  There wasn't a man on this trail with enough guts to come right out and ask the little oriental man to sleep in the covered wagon.

"Hey, Hop Sing, its not fair.  I am just as tired as Little Joe from all of that riding.  How about letting me share the wagon with him?" Hoss asked.  He didn't really think Joe was getting preferential treatment.  He just wanted to have a joke and poke in fun at

the situation.

"You never sleep in there.  Too big, make too much noise and big mess," Hop Sing retorted, happy to join in the amusement.

"How come Joe's your favourite?" Hoss asked hurriedly as Hop Sing pushed him from behind and made sure Ben and Adam were leaving with him.

"Hop Sing no have favourite Cartwright.  Treat all the same," he answered, knowing the statement to be only partly true.  While he did treat each of the family members with equal respect.  There was no denying that Joe would always hold a special place in his heart.

Joe would always get the first cookie on bake day or the best piece of steak on Saturday nights.  Hop Sing Had watched the young man come into this world and continued to have a silent input into his upbringing for the best part of eighteen years.

Hop Sing had seen smiles and sadness, anger and hurt.  Had tended Joe through childhood illnesses and soothed hurts from all forms of injuries.  He had been a friend when Joe declared he didn't need anybody.  He had been a mentor when there was

much to learn or some harsher lessons to be taught about the ways of others.  When the cold cruelty of life made it unbearable to see the road ahead or Joe said simply that he didn't understand.

The Cantonese man was no poet and had no education to claim to be smarter than others socially above him.  He couldn't stop Joe dead in his tracks with the booming voice that Ben possessed.

All that he could hope for was that the little extra things he did; those things that often went unnoticed or perhaps were not always commented upon, went a long way in helping and nurturing Joe to allow him to become a better person within himself.

Looking back briefly, he could be assured that his efforts were not in vain and were indeed silently appreciated.

Ben and his two eldest sons certainly retired to their own beds that night knowing that the youngest member of the family was in perfectly capable hands.

**************************************************

The next morning started wen a glorious sunrise.  The temperature was mild and the day looked like it could be an enjoyable one.

Hop Sing had been bustling about the cook fire well before any of the man stirred, ensuring that coffee was already settled on the coals.  Breakfast was well underway, with plenty of bacon, grits and toast on offer.

Today the work would be hard, dusty and probably hot by later in the afternoon.  The men needed to keep up their strength and begin the day with a hearty breakfast.  They would also need to drink lots of water to help them stay hydrated throughout the rest of the day.

Hoss and Adam were dressed and ready to start work very early.  Ben had just joined them by the fire for his first cup of coffee.

"No sign of Joe yet?" Ben asked, not worried that his youngest son had been afforded the luxury of extra sleep.  He wanted to make this trip as easy as possible on Joe and let him find his feet again in his own time.

The thing Ben was hoping Joe would discover again out here with a lung full of fresh air was his smile.  It had been too long.  Far too long even though he understood the reasons why.

"I wanted to go and get him out of that warm wagon there, Pa," Hoss replied.  "But I was threatened if I did."

Ben chuckled slightly, already guessing at the identity of the person who had Hoss

scared.

"You wake Lil' Joe and you no eat, Mr Hoss," Hop Sing warned, wielding a large heavy fry pan for emphasis.

"See, you know how much I love him Pa, but I ain't willing to give up my breakfast because of him," Hoss declared.

"Doesn't look like you have to worry any longer about your breakfast brother," Adam said looking from his own cup of coffee and seeing Joe climb out of the chuck wagon.

Ben smiled broadly as he watched his son amble casually towards them for his morning coffee.

"Morning, Little Joe," Ben greeted him cheerfully.  "Sleep alright?"

Joe rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, trying to ease the stiffness that was present.  "To tell you the truth, Pa, I don't remember falling asleep at all last night," he admitted while pouring coffee into a tin cup.

"Well, you look rested enough," Ben remarked, glad to see the absence of lines and

shadows from his vibrant green eyes.

"I feel good too, Pa," Joe offered with a small smile and then went back to drinking his coffee and thinking about the tasks ahead of him that day.

Hoss and Adam were definitely pleased at seeing Joe being a little more talkative this morning.  Exchanging sly glances, neither one of them could resist the temptation of commenting playfully about the previous night's sleeping arrangements.

"Tell me Hoss, how was your comfortable warm bed last night? Adam asked, beginning the jibe towards Joe.

"Now that you mention it, Adam, that mattress I had last night was a might bit hard under my back," Hoss replied.

"You mean you had a rocky hard place just like me," Adam said in mock surprise.  "Just goes to show you that not all of us were cosy and warm, snuggled under a nice soft blanket," he said looking directly at Joe as he spoke.

"Maybe if you two did a little more work around here," Joe shot back, but was quickly getting to his feet and escaping before his brothers had a chance to retaliate.

"You are so gonna get it for saying things like that, little brother," Hoss taunted.

Hoss and Adam made as if to chase after Joe, still threatening to tackle their younger brother for the comments he had made.  Joe paused for a moment, allowing the older two to catch up.  He made a few more candid remarks about having to wait for them and how they were always holding him back.  The three of them walked off together, ready to saddle their horses for today's work.

Ben watched on in amusement and relief at the light-hearted banter and comical exchange between his three sons.  Although not normally approving of rough-house play this early, this morning he couldn't help but realise that it was just what Joe needed right now.

For that whole day, Adam, Hoss and Ben had an unspoken pact between themselves to always know where Joe was in the round up.  They all knew that Joe had a lot of distraction on his mind.  A split second miscalculation and something could go dreadfully wrong.

The first few hours went by quickly and without incident.  The men worked together as a team, making everyone's job a little easier.   It was in the hour directly after lunch that the Cartwright family began to notice a change in Joe's focused concentration.

At a time when he didn't really need to, Joe seemed to be pushing himself both physically and mentally.

Joe expected nothing less than perfection from his own riding and roping skills, but this afternoon it appeared that nothing he did was turning out right in his eyes.  The trail was already hot and dusty.  Joe paused on a few occasions to wipe the stinging sweat from his brow.

A grimace on his face and the manner, in which he was holding his left hand protectively against his chest, signalled that he was hurting.  He was wearing a pair

of thick leather gloves to avoid the rope chafing the skin on his hands.  But they were not helping a great deal to shield against the pain.

Whistles and instructions were coming from all around as Joe found himself riding

precariously on the fringes of the mob of steers.  Cochise was already showing signs of fear and nervousness, tossing her head wildly to demonstrate her unease.  It was only her experienced rider's gentle and reassuring caresses that calmed her.

Ben had shouted "Get out of there" to Joe as his own concerns for his son's safety increased alarmingly.  But due to the noise of the herd and the voices of the other men drowning out his words, Joe couldn't hear anybody speaking directly to him.

"Charlie, I'll rope this one, you pull a few of those others away from me and back towards  the rear of the herd," Joe shouted to the foreman.  One of the larger animals was causing distress to the rest of the mob.  For the safety of man, horse and beast, it's cantankerous ways would have to be subdued.

Joe momentarily forgot in his haste to rope the animal, that his left hand was still injured.  He had looped the rope and was getting ready to cast it over the head of the troublesome steer.

As soon as he curled his knuckles around the length of rope, he was barely able to suppress an anguished cry of pain.  A half-strangulated sound erupted from his throat as he tried to over correct his mistake.

By now, the steer had become aware of what was going to happen.  Joe hurriedly tried to swap the rope over to his right hand.  His hand's clumsiness and awkwardness caused the rope to fall from his grasp altogether into the middle of the herd.

Seizing upon Joe's mistake, the steer now tried to barge it's way past.  The animal bent its head low and rammed it against the softer rump of Cochise.  

Ben and his boys watched on in bemused horror as Cochise whinnied with fright.   She tried to bolt away from the herd, her rider barely able to maintain his balance on her back or his control over the reins with only one good hand.

Joe hung on for dear life and carefully urged his frightened horse as far away from the cattle as possible.  If he lost his grip on the reins and Cochise tried to bolt again, he would find himself beneath a number of hooves and legs.

The frightened horse and rider narrowly missed being struck by another animal, determined to make a nuisance of itself.  The whole herd was now on alert and the animals moved about skittishly, waiting for one or more of the larger steers to dictate the direction in which they would all stampede.

The hands worked together feverishly to contain the animals in a roughly formed circular corral, using their own horses the keep the herd together.    They flanked the mob on all

sides and in pairs were the steers were greater in number.  To have the animals stampede now, many animals could cause injury to each other, or to the hands themselves.  

It was determined that the use of gunfire would only cause the steers to become more unsettled.  Firing into the air was a common enough practice, and indeed the Cartwrights had used such tactics on innumerable musters in the past.   With Joe and Cochise in such a perilous position so close to the herd, such a risk wasn't worth taking.

Finally, the steers began to quieten.   Joe managed to urge Cochise far enough away to prevent him falling amidst the cattle.   His tenuous grip on the reins caused the tendons in his wrist to become taunt and ache, especially his injured left hand.  His face wore a grimace as he resigned himself to the fact that he couldn't hold on any longer.  

Joe reined in Cochise as much as possible, causing her to slow down to a walk.   He wasn't able to get her to stop altogether due to her muscles still trembling with fright.    Joe let the reins go and fell with an unceremonious thud to the ground, landing on his behind.

Cochise still showed her uneasiness about the closeness to the herd, but she had been taught a long time ago to stop as soon as her rider let go of the reins.  This has saved Joe from a few close scrapes in the past.   

Ben's frustration was clearly evident as he tried to urge Buck around the herd towards his 

son as quickly as possible.  Although an experienced mount around a shifting herd of cattle, the beige horse showing the respect deserved.   

The dust was choking, coating the back of their throats and almost making them gag until

it was washed away with a drink of water from their canteens.   The haze that resulted in a swirling cloud, making seeing difficult as the animals churned up the soil with the hooves. 

Hoss and Adam found getting around the herd of steers just as difficult as their father.  

Each attempt was time consuming and a delay in getting to Joe.    When they did finally 

navigate their way clear, they were relieved to see that Ben was already helping their brother to his feet.   He was conscious and appeared to be talking coherently, which was an encouraging sign.

"Joe………Joe, are you alright son?" Ben said as he jumped from the saddle, barely giving Buck enough time to stop.   He could see his son moving freely enough, perhaps a little stiffly at the most.

"Yeah, I am alright, Pa!" Joe said tersely to himself.  "Blasted cows!" he added getting to

his knees, and then be assisted into a standing position from his father.   A couple of the hands had come to see if the youngest Cartwright had suffered any injury, but a cold hard glance from his eyes and a scowl on his face to match, they decided it best to let Ben handle the situation.  This only added to his sense of humiliation.

Ben was already dusting the copious amount of dust from Joe's shirt and trousers, determined to make a judgment for himself since his son wasn't as co-operative.   There 

was no blood, or torn clothes.   It appeared Joe had tipped the luck of fortune and came out of the fall relatively unscathed.   

"Would you stop that, Pa," Joe said crossly, slapping his father's hands away, and then regretting taking his frustrations and embarrassment out on Ben.   He was acting like a child and knew his family were only showing their concern.  At the moment though, it all seemed like smothering to him, even a little bit fussing and he was in no mood for such comforts out here.

"Sorry son," Ben said, noting the annoyance in Joe's voice and his deliberate attempts to 

avoid any physical contact.  "You don't look any the worse for the fall," he found himself saying, carefully looking at his son's facial expression as he made the comment.

"I will be fine, Pa," Joe said and without offering any more than that, angrily replaced his hat on his hat and grabbed the reins of Cochise, ready to mount and forget the whole thing even happened.  They had a herd of cattle to move.   He had taken a tumble out of the saddle, time to get back on it and get back to work.

Joe was mounted and ready to ride back around the herd to where a few of the other men where still keeping the herd in check.  Ben forced Cochise to stop by holding onto her bridle.   He wanted to talk to Joe and knew that the direction approach was the only method at the moment while Joe's temper was so close to the surface.   His son's pride and self-esteem had taken a fall along with him out of the saddle, and he couldn't let that cloud Joe's judgment around the cattle.

"Why don't you ride up along the ridge up there and keep an eye out for trouble or strays," Ben stated.   His voice was gentle enough and the volume low, but there was something in the words that told Joe it was a direction, not a request.   

Joe was about to open his mouth and protest at being taken away from the herd.   When he couldn't think of anything to say in return, he quickly snapped Cochise's reins and rode away from the ground towards his appointed post for the remainder of the afternoon.

Ben sighed audibly as he watched Joe ride away.  Even his manner of riding spoke volumes about how he felt at the moment.  His strained upright position in the saddle suggested that he was fighting with himself on the inside.  

"He alright, Pa?" Hoss asked as he pulled his horse Chubb up alongside Ben.  He had heard Ben's suggestion about riding away from the herd, and he had seen the reaction it had caused in his younger brother.   Joe saw it as a way of keeping him out of the action in case he was distracted again and his concentration wavered.   

"One minute he seems like the old Joe, the next he is moody and depressed again," Adam commented, noting similar characteristics as his father in Joe's posture and body language.

"I don't think he really knows what he should be doing himself, Adam," Ben explained.  "You saw how he was when we rode out here, didn't want to be apart of the group very much.  Understandable, given the circumstances.  He works with the cattle like there is no tomorrow, using it to take his mind off his troubles.   Now he has slumped back into that sullen mood again.   Just when he seems to rise above it.

"It's like he doesn't know how he should be feeling, privately, or in front of others, like us and the other ranch hands.   He hasn't dealt with grief in a long time and it is consuming him," Adam offered.  "He doesn't know, so he shuts us out and keeps his distance."

"Grief is a very personal thing Adam.  There is no right and wrong way, everyone is different in how they cope and react.   It changes depending on how close you are to the one that has been lost.   When Joe lost his mother, his grief was that for a little boy who had just lost his mother.   This past week has been for a friend that he has known for a long time, together with his own guilt over the accident.   It's difficult to say how long he will continue like this," Ben said, still watching his son as he reached the ridge and sent the other rider back to the herd.

"I hope he finds some peace soon, even if it is just within himself.  He is tearing himself up inside over Tom.  He is not eating like he should be and sleep has been erratic or non-existent," said Hoss.

"Maybe Paul will have some other suggestions when we get back home," Adam remarked hopefully.  For the next few hours they would need to focus their attentions back on the herd and finishing this brief muster.   Once home, they could discuss with or without Joe how best to help him come to terms with what had happened.  

The food around the campfire tonight would be hot and there would be lots of laughter and stories to share.  Once the herd was secured, most of them could relax in each other's company until morning and the return trip home.

***********************************************

Joe sat upon his horse, resting on the ridge as he surveyed the area below.   He took a drink from his canteen to clear some of the dust from his lungs.   The water was no longer cool, but it was wet and he would have to make do until they finished for the day.

All of the anger and annoyance had left him the moment he began riding away from his 

father and the herd.   He couldn't explain why he was so frustrated.    He didn't know why.  There was just a deep burning desire within him to show some sort of emotion.  Which one though;  white hot anger, or tears of sorrow and grief.

Life seemed to have the same old mundane feel to it that it always had done.  Just another day.    But how could that be.  A man was dead and life seemed to go on as if Tom Withers had never existed.

With all of this time to himself, Joe had all the time in the world to think.   Think back to the accident.  To the trip out here yesterday.   To the group of rustlers he had caught at the fence line a few days ago.

Of course Joe remembered bits and pieces of the grief he had felt at the loss of his mother.  Maybe he had been too young at the time to fully understand the impact such a tragic event would have on the rest of life.   He still thought about her and felt a sense of loss, even after fourteen years.    

How long was he going to feel the loss of Tom?  Fourteen years was a long time.   He was barely managing from day to day and that sort of time span seemed insurmountable right now.   Was he destined to remember what happened until he would go mad with the images constantly plaguing his wakeful and sleeping hours.

In the grand scheme of things, who got to decide to lived and died?  Who got to make the ultimate choice?  Most would probably say God himself, bringing back to subject of discussion that he had had with his father before the cattle drive.   The deeper he explored such a question, the further away from finding the truth he felt.

If God was the one to choose who joined his realm, what factors did he look for in the living? Did he look for the old and frail first?  Mostly likely not, Joe had known a lot of people during his young life to pass away well before their time.   Whether by sickness or at the hands of a killer.  Or through an accident, like the one that had befallen Tom Withers.

Joe doubted that colour, creed or race determined who gained entry to heaven and who did not.  There seemed to be unexplained or premature deaths to all cultures.    The Indians often lost babies when they were very young due to the harsh conditions of their lifestyle.  The Mexican children were often brought up in poor communities where hunger and a lack of the basic necessities was a daily struggle.

Normally Joe wasn't one to question the decisions or actions of God.   He was just another person in his flock of many.   Day by day though, Joe found himself saying that he just didn't understand God's ways and methods.   He doubted he ever would completely.  Maybe in time he could learn to accept certain things happening.    

It was people like Tom Withers that Joe wanted to ask God about.  Why he had been taken and not another.  Perhaps some looked upon it as a blessing.  Tom had no family to leave behind or had left behind vast assets or wealth.  Did the fact that he had led a relatively simplistic and humble, hard working life, deem him eligible to go before others who were guilty of more. 

By the time the sun was beginning to set in the sky and the clouds had taken on a reddish hue over the horizon, Joe let the subject alone.   He had battled it sitting up on this ridge for far too long and for all his hours of contemplation and thinking, he was no closer to the right answer.

The terrain they were in now was mostly a large flat expanse of land.  It was an ideal area for the cattle, being able to see for quite good distances all around.   They would need to be watchful for wild animals such as mountain lions and wolves, the openness of the landscape would enable to see any that would try to approach.

There was very little shrubby for any predators to hide behind and the air was calm and still enough to be a pleasant night.    Far off to the left was the beginning of a wooded area.   A large acreage of Ponderosa pines led to the borders of the neighbouring property to the west.    They would have very little to fear from that side tonight.

"I'll take your horse for you, Joe," Hoss said as he ambled over to his brother as he walked into camp.   He was expecting a bit of resistance or at least a sharp reply, but when he didn't receive either one, that only caused him to worry more over his brother's state of depression.

Joe handed Cochise's reins to his larger brother almost without a word.  The youngest Cartwright grabbed a small towel and poured some water into a basin behind the chuck 

wagon, trying to clean some of the dust off him.   He rubbed the cloth over his tanned face and neck and savoured the small amount of soothing that resulted.

"You had better let me take a look at that hand too," Ben said as he approached from behind.  Joe jumped slightly at his father's voice, and tried to turn away and pretend he hadn't heard the suggestion.

"Joe," Ben said gently, placing a strong hand on the young man's shoulder, urging him to turn around and share whatever problem was eating away at him.  He was about to ask if Joe wanted to talk, but somehow that seemed to be the wrong thing to ask at the moment.   Instead he compromised.  "Would you like some coffee?"

Joe did turn around and smile, completing aware of the cat and mouse game that his father was playing.    He wasn't upset or angry at this.  He just wanted the world to close in around him and let him forget everything, even for a few hours.  "Coffee sounds real good, Pa," was the response he offered.

Later that same evening, Joe was sitting with his father and brothers around the campfire.   Supper had been eaten and now the men were talking idly about the happenings of the day and generally catching up with one another to pass the time away.

No matter how hard Joe tried, he just couldn't get himself interested in the conversation.  Something else was attracting his attention and he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense that somebody was watching him.   He knew how silly it sounded, being out here in the middle of a vast open plain with a herd of cattle.  But he still couldn't shake the feeling.

Joe got up to refill his coffee cup from the pot resting near the fire.   He was about to pour the hot liquid into his tin cup when his hands began to tremble so badly, it dropped from his hand. He could feel the beads of sweat running down the back of his shirt at the apprehensiveness that continued to grow within him.  He didn't have a rational explanation for it, but it was there all the same.

Ben had been talking seriously with Hoss and Adam about what tasks needed to be carried out the next day.  He had yet to see the fearful expression written on his youngest son's face.  

It was the sound of the tin cup falling on the ground that caught Ben's attention.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Joe standing near the fire.  As he turned his head to get a better view, he could see Joe had his eyes squeezed shut tight as though he were in pain.

Ben immediately got up and went to his son, trying to put a hand on his shoulder and see what the trouble was.  He was alarmed at the amount of trembling he felt running through his son's body.  

The temperature of the night was mild and so it was less likely that his son shivered from the cold.  "What is wrong, Joe?" Ben asked in a gentle voice, seeing the obvious distress that his son was displaying.  By now, Hoss and Adam had become aware of a problem presenting itself.

Joe forced himself to open his eyes and look at his father.  When he did so, Ben saw something reflecting in those emerald green eyes that he had not seen in his youngest son for a long time:  absolute fear.

Joe himself could feel the muscles in his chest tightening from the sense of fear that wanted to consume him.   He couldn't put what he was feeling into words.  Joe now took two steps backwards away from his family and in an instant had drawn his gun and held it ready to shoot.

"Son, what is wrong?" Ben asked, trying not to agitate the situation more.  His son was

confused and scared all at the same time.  As though he knew he had to do something,

but couldn't quite work out what.   His reflexes were on high alert and it would only take

a brief second of distraction to make a fatal mistake

'Don't you feel it, Pa?" Joe asked incredulously, not comprehending that he was the only

one to feel this way.   'There is something out there, Pa' he wanted to say, but the words

never left his lips.

Ben paused a second and tried his best to try and work out what had Joe so tense and

afraid, but for the life of him, he couldn't see or hear anything except the herd of cattle.

Hoss and Adam listened intently and gazed out into the pitch blackness, noting the almost urgent tone of Joe's voice.

Joe looked away from his father and brothers towards the trees in the distance.   Something was out there, he could feel it.  Almost taste it.   It was too dark to make anything out but the outline of the trees but somewhere in there he felt as though he was being watched.  No watched wasn't the right word he told himself:  stalked he corrected.

TO BE CONTINUED ………………….

Okay, there isn't much action happening in this chapter, but I added a lot more content than I originally planned.  I have to include all of this background information to make the story flow further down the track.  It all has an intended purpose, so please keep reading.

The comments about God and Joe's views of the church are just for this story, they are not intended to offend or make a statement either way.   I am just writing Joe's initial reactions to a tragic event and how I portray him coping.

By now you will probably all note who the figure in the trees is.   Butch Thomas is about

to make a come back in the next chapter.   A little at first, but by the end of that chapter, his influence on the story will be fully put into place.

We haven't heard the last of Joe's relationship with Tom Withers.  Yes he is dead, but there will be things happening in later chapters that will remind Joe of certain times they shared together.  A flashback if you like, at a most critical time.  Something that Ben and his two boys are not aware about that occurred after the last time Butch Thomas visited.

Also, we haven't seen the last of the stranger from the fence line or the saloon.  He will take on a more meatier role in future chapters.  And he has been christened with a name to avoid referring to him continually as "the stranger".

There will still be little references back to False Witness – that is deliberate and sometimes they will be subtle enough to miss if you are not paying attention.  Other times they will be more obvious and Joe will be reliving certain parts of that torment and time in captivity.

The scene with Hop Sing in the wagon was added in at the last minute, sounds a little lame in parts, but just there to add a little fluff to the story before the real action gets underway.  It also cements a little more the relationship between Joe and the little Cantonese man which will also have a part to play much later in the story.

As you can probably tell, this story has a very long way to go.   We are not even up to the good parts yet.  Lots more planned so I hope you all stick around to read and let me know how I am doing.   It will rival False Witness in length and I hope in plot and complexity as I introduce a whole new cast of characters.

There will be 10 new characters introduced into the next chapter – that will make 12 all

together including Butch Thomas and Joe but excluding Ben, Hoss and Adam.   The reasons will be explained as I go.   Each character has a different name, back ground and role to play in the story so bear with me as I take the time to tell you about each one.

Enjoy

JULES


	4. Chapter 4

**THE GUNFIGHTER  
  
This story is a sequel to False Witness and although it would be possible to read on it's own, you will need to know the background about the character Butch Thomas and how he and the Cartwright family came to know of each other.  
  
I have changed my mind slightly for this story and it will take place only 3 years after Thomas was sent to prison for the attempted murder and kidnapping of Little Joe Cartwright. That makes Joe 19 years old for this story and suits the theme of the story a little better. I was originally going to have it five years afterwards at the age of 21 years.  
  
Hope you enjoy this one as much as False Witness:  
  
_Three years earlier these few words echoed in Joe Cartwright's memory:  
  
"SOMEDAY I WILL COME BACK. YOU AND I WILL MEET AGAIN – I PROMISE"  
  
and now the story turns another page and continues:  
_**  
"Joe, there is nothing out there but a herd of cows," Hoss said, trying to reassure his brother. But he could plainly see that Joe was not ready to be comforted.  
  
How could he describe the way he felt. He could see the dubiously looks from the ranch hands and the uneasy glances from his family. Was it even possible to put into words the cold sweat that ran down his back or the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention with the fear coursing through his entire body.  
  
Adam tried a different tactic. If they couldn't ease Joe's tension by telling him there was nothing out there, he might be able to try something else. "What do you see out there, Joe?"  
  
"Nothing!" Joe said firmly, knowing it was an outright lie.  
  
What Joe really wanted to tell his family was that it wasn't a 'something' out there but a 'somebody'. He couldn't explain the feeling he had inside. It was like his insides were twisting into knots in trepidation. The fear gripped him and seized him from within. He tried to find the words or an explanation, but there wasn't either.  
  
"Forget it, just a bit jumpy tonight, for some reason," Joe gave as a haphazard excuse. He felt like he was tumbling over his own words, but what he was really trying to do was hide the fear that had appeared from nowhere.  
  
As is to signal that he no longer wanted to take any part of the conversation, Joe turned away from his family, glancing over at the other hands as he went over to his bedroll. The hands gave him varying looks of sympathy or confusion. All of them had known Joe for quite a while, but none of them had been around long enough to know what had happened 3 years ago. They had yet to see fear take a hold of the youngest Cartwright.  
  
They had seen his energetic, hard-working, and sometimes prank like nature, and had come to admire him as a friend and co-worker. He was easier to approach than Adam or Ben himself, but still expected the work to be completed at the end of the day.  
  
Tonight, they were taken aback by the sudden change in Joe's demeanour. They knew he was still edgy since the accident with Tom Withers and his death. But none of his actions this evening seemed to be as a result of that incident. Something different entirely.  
  
Ben didn't want to leave it unfinished or without an explanation as to what Joe thought he had seen. It was clear to everyone else that evening that something has scared Joe quite badly. They were camped out on an open plain, with no vegetation within one hundred metres or so on either side.  
  
The cattle seemed calm enough at the moment and showed no signs of uneasiness that might indicate that a mountain lion was about. The hands had been finishing off their meals and enjoying a quiet chat with each other before getting into their bedrolls.  
  
By the time Ben walked over to Joe, his son had laid down and turned his body away from everyone else. He was not sleeping, though, and Ben knew it a tell-tale sign that Joe was building up a wall of defence around himself once more. He had done it on many occasions in the past, even within the last few weeks.  
  
Later that evening, after the hands had retired to bed, Joe got up from his bedroll and walked the short distance to the edge of the camp fire. His family had gone to sleep a few hours ago, leaving the camp silent and still. Quiet enough for Joe to think as he looked out over the herd of cattle.  
  
The fear that had coursed through him earlier that evening had lessened a lot. It was not gone altogether, but a shadow still remained. He couldn't understand himself what had caused him to feel so afraid.  
  
It was just before dawn that he started moving around the camp. Stirring up the coals of the fire to start some coffee for the men before the work started. Hop Sing came about half and hour later and was more than surprised to see the youngest Cartwright already awake. The tiredness etched on Joe's tanned skin told the Cantonese man that Joe had never gone to bed that night.  
  
"Little Joe, feel better?" Hop Sing asked cautiously.  
  
"Joe feels just fine, thank you Hop Sing," he replied, a small smile creeping over his face at the man's outward show of concern. No doubt his family would be asking the same question when they awoke.  
  
Twenty minutes later, Ben emerged from behind one of the wagons, fully dressed and prepared to start a full and long day of work. With any luck today, they would be back at the Ponderosa before sunset and could lie in their own beds tonight instead of the hard baked ground.  
  
"Good Morning, Joseph," Ben greeted his son, his face scanning his features for any signs that the previous night still plagued his thoughts. He noted the same tiredness that Hop Sing had seen, but his son's demeanour was a whole lot better than it had been last night.  
  
"Morning, Pa," Joe said, not looking directly at his father as he spoke. He really didn't have a plausible explanation for the way he had reacted last night. He didn't feel like sharing he deepest thoughts with anyone right at this time. "Coffee is ready if you would like some."  
  
Ben quirked an eyebrow at his son's attempts to avoid talking about what had occurred the night before. He didn't feel like alienating his son so early in the morning. Once they were back home, perhaps there would be a little more time to unwind and get Joe to open up a little.  
  
Joe avoided talking to his brothers much as he did his father, choosing instead to be saddling his horse ready for the long return journey home when they came to have their breakfast. Ben mentioned his notions to Adam and Hoss about Joe evasiveness, telling them to keep a closer eye on him today, in case something else happened before they were home.  
  
The first few hours of the journey home were concentrated on keeping the herd together. Despite their calm mood last night, something has spooked them this morning and it took all of the hands riding to the best of their ability and keeping their mounts under strict control to defuse what could rapidly become a dangerous situation.  
  
Joe's own riding skills stood out today, but there was a marked difference in how he positioned himself and Cochise against the herd of cattle. On the journey out from the Ponderosa, Joe had wanted to remain at the rear of all the riders, choosing to keep to himself. He had eventually been coaxed into riding with his brothers, but that had taken some encouragement on Adam's part.  
  
Today, Joe made sure that he was towards the front of the herd. Wanting to keep with the lead steers and frequently stealing glances over his shoulder as if expecting to see something. Ben couldn't help but feel a deep gnawing in the pit of his stomach that all of this was leading up to something that was being kept from him.  
  
Adam had seen his brother glance over his right shoulder twice, and once over his left in the space of half an hour. The closer they got to the Ponderosa, the more nervous and agitated Joe became. He had even snapped at two of the other riders for something that would have been considered trivial. It only went further to convince Joe's family that something was eating way at him on inside.  
  
About 2 miles from the Ponderosa, the fear that had steadily been growing within Joe again over the afternoon took hold so rapidly it took his breath away. He couldn't have explained it even if the right words could be found. He didn't know why, but his heart and mind where telling him to run and don't look back.  
  
Without warning, Joe spurred Cochise into a full gallop, flying along the dirt trail with the wind in his face and a cloud of dust left in his wake. Cochise seemed to pick up on her rider's anxiety and fear, maintaining the speed, her black mane flattening along her neck.  
  
"Joe, wait!" Hoss tried to shout after his younger brother, but his words were not heeded and they all watched as Joe raced towards home as if the very devil himself was chasing him down.  
  
"We have to get to the source of this, Pa," Adam commented, perplexed and concerned about his brother's unusual mood swings. "What would cause him to ride like that?" he asked, the same question already on the minds of his brother and father.  
  
With his family still bringing the cattle, Joe arrived back at the Ponderosa to an empty yard. At first he didn't dismount, looking around expecting to find something different. Home was supposed to be where you felt safe and protected. But even after racing Cochise all the way to here now, he couldn't help but feel that the Ponderosa was the last place he should be right now.  
  
Gingerly, Joe got of his horse and led her over to the barn. Once inside, he went about his usual routine of rubbing her down, though the fear cause a few of the strokes to be a little too hard. Cochise whinnied her displeasure, nudging her master with the tip of her nose. Joe gave her a soft pat in apology.  
  
By the time Ben and his sons rode into the yard, Joe was just emerging from the barn after seeing to his horse. He gave a wan smile, knowing that there would be questions coming. When trying to come up with an excuse for dashing off so suddenly, the answer came easier than he might have first thought.  
  
"Are you alright, Joe?" Ben asked, still mounted atop Buck. He eyed his youngest son, carefully looking for any sign of what was bothering him.  
  
"What made you run off like that, Little Joe?" Hoss asked more directly, with still with concern on his face.  
  
"Sorry, my hand has been bothering me all day, I just wanted to get home and see if Hop Sing had any of that rubbing balm to try and help," Joe said, holding his injured hand. He spoke the partial truth. His hand had been bothering him for most of the cattle drive, but it now became a convenient explanation to avoid admitting to himself that he was scared.  
  
"But Joseph, Hop Sing is still in the wagon behind us with the rest of the hands," Ben pointed out, putting a hole right through his son's alibi. "He will still be a few minutes away. "Why don't you go inside and see if you can't soak it in some warm water for a few minutes until he arrives and unloads the wagon."  
  
"That sounds like a good idea, Pa," Joe said, leaving the sentence unfinished and walking towards the homestead. It was just as Joe reached for the door handle and the beginnings of old memories began to haunt him once more that Joe stole a last glance over his shoulder once more.  
  
Half an hour later and Ben had settled Buck into the barn for the night and the hands were seeing to helping Hop Sing unload the chuck wagon. Ben mentioned to the little Cantonese man about Joe's hand hurting again. Hop Sing promised to do what he could.  
  
When Ben finally managed to enter the front door, he was most surprised to see Joe reclining back against the settee. His feet where resting on the table, still with his boots on. His injured left hand was submerged in a large bowl of water. Joe's eyes were closed, but a slight frowning on his forehead indicated that he had yet to find sleep or rest.  
  
Ben moved as quietly as he could around to get a better view of his son, trying hard not to disturb the quietness the empty living room offered. Maybe Joe could begin to drift off if he was allowed a few more moments of peace. Ben dipped a finger into the bowl of water and found the temperature to be only tepid. Probably wouldn't aid Joe's aching hand much, but he loathed to add any more and risk preventing Joe from unwinding.  
  
Joe started from his drowsy position as soon as he heard the approaching footsteps of Adam and Hoss into the house. Hop Sing soon appeared with the small red jar in hand and a fresh bandage. "Lil Joe be more comfortable in his own bed," the little man suggested.  
  
Although spoken softly, Hop Sing's words were heeded as though they were an order. Joe allowed his father to help him to his feet, surprised at how shaky his legs felt and how tired he had begun to feel in just the few minutes of resting on the couch. He didn't know how much longer he could keep his eyes open and longed just to sleep.  
  
Once they had successfully navigated the staircase, Ben led Joe to the edge of the bed and allowed him to lower his tired and aching body onto the soft mattress. Hop Sing busied himself on the opposite side, Joe barely feeling his touch as he gently took his injured hand and begun to remove the older and now soiled bandages.  
  
Hop Sing smiled to himself as Joe lay back against the pillow, his eyelids barely lifting at the administrations to his hand. Using a soft cloth and warm water, Hop Sing bathed the knuckles with care and made sure that the wound was thoroughly clean. Next he applied a small smear of the healing balm and then made sure that the medicinal herbs did their job by wrapping a clean white piece of bandaging around the hand.  
  
"Hand is much cleaner now. A little bruising from using rope on cows, but it fade in a few days," Hop Sing said to Ben. Ben was relieved, not having given much thought to the idea that any of the rough treatment Joe would have put his hands through from helping out with the cattle would cause irritation to the already injured hand.  
  
"Joe needs to get some rest," Ben now said, looking down at his son. "He didn't sleep very well last night, if at all. He is trying to bottle everything up again. He doesn't want any of us to know that he is wrestling with his fears and emotions inside. Though, it is obvious to us all that he is suffering."  
  
"Hop Sing think number three son will sleep well this night," the Cantonese man offered Ben in reassurance. Joe certainly looked tired enough to sleep through undisturbed. "Hop Sing clean up kitchen," he said now, exiting from the room and leaving Ben alone with his slumbering son.  
  
Ben had already told Joe that he could come to any of them if something was bothering him. Anyone of them would listen, if only to hear Joe describe the fears he had. They had yet to understand what causing him to built up walls of defence around himself again.  
  
Tom Wither's death was still weighed heavily on his heart, Ben knew this. But there was something different about his reaction around the camp fire last night that made him think that it wasn't Tom's ghost that haunted Joe.  
  
"You need to give yourself some time, Joseph," Ben wanted to say to Joe as he slept. He reached out a hand, wanting to caress his cheek and allow his touch to reassure his son that he was safe. He stopped though, just before his fingertips rested on the tan, smooth skin. Instead, he placed a kiss on his son's forehead, amidst the wayward curls. "Don't shut me out of your life, Joseph."  
  
Ben quietly left the room, hoping that a new dawn would bring peace for his son and a sense of normality back to his life. He didn't want to assign any demanding work around the ranch to his son, but knew that Joe would seek work as a source of trying to avoid his troubles and ignore the signs that he needed to find a way to cope and move on with his life.  
  
Joe slept deeply for about 4 hours that night before the dreams began to invade his peaceful slumber yet again. At first he awoke, not knowing what had caused him to do so. As he took stock of everything around him, be became aware that his hand was throbbing quite a bit.  
  
He took the bandaged hand out from underneath the bedclothes and began to examine it more closely. The whiteness of the new bandage made the injury stand out. Joe attempted to flex the fingers into a fist, but stopped as the tendons and muscles protested. It was going to take more time than he would like to admit in healing.  
  
As he continued to think about the injury and the restrictions that it might place upon his working routine, more deeper thoughts began to plague him. He thought back to Tom losing his arm and what the losing of a limb might have meant to his lifestyle if he had not taken his own life.  
  
Joe recalled his usage of the cutlery at the dining room table a few nights before and how clumsy and inconsistent his movements seemed to be. The injury had been sustained to his left hand. His natural hand. The one he relied on most to do simple things like tie off a rope on a steer. To pull his boots on first thing in the morning. To button a shirt. And most importantly of all, his hand for his gun.  
  
Joe pulled himself into a sitting position, the desire to sleep now long escaping him. He looked down at his hand, wondering what he would do if he wasn't able to use his hand for his gun. He tried to flex his fingers again, grunting slightly and hissing the pain that ran down the knuckles and into his wrist.  
  
Even if he could hold a pistol in his hand, the resistance in his muscles to react would make his firing time slow. He wouldn't be able to rely on the speed and accuracy he had devoted hours of practice to. How would he defend himself with a weapon if it became necessary?  
  
The feeling of uselessness seemed to multiply as the hand of the clock moved closer to dawn. It was only now that his eyes rested on his right hand. The one that wasn't adorned by a bandage and had not been hurt. Something in the back of his mind made him attempt to flex the fingers on his right hand.  
  
The action was slow at first and deliberate, as if to detect any stiffness or resistance to the same muscles that impeded his left hand. There was none that he could immediately detect. He tried for a second and third time, carefully waiting for any pain. Perhaps he could use his right hand for his gun until his left healed fully.  
  
The notion certainly sounded plausible. But even upon flexing his fingers like he would before using his left hand for firing his gun, he could feel the awkwardness of his fist and how different this hand felt trying to mimic the actions of his natural hand. There was still an hour or so before his father or brothers would be wake and ready to start the day. Maybe he could go downstairs and bring his gun back to his room to test his theory.  
  
Wiping the lingering tiredness from his eyes, his mind firmly fixed on wanting to know if he would be able to use his right hand to shoot or not. He opened the door silently and slowly, not wanting the slightest creak to come from the solid wood and metal hinges.  
  
The hallway and stairs were all quiet. The doors to Adam and Hoss's rooms remained closed. He waited for a few more moments, listening for any sign that his brothers were awake yet. It took almost fifteen minutes for him to reach the bottom of the staircase that lead into the living room. He paused every second or third step, making sure that his movements were not being watched or heard by his family.  
  
By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, his hands were slightly clamming with the deception he was about to do. He knew what his father's stern rules were when it came to guns being in the house. Ben had taught his boys from a very early age that weapons of any kind where not to be abused, nor were they to be taken out of the living room to anywhere else in the house. That was especially so for the boy's bedrooms.  
  
The need to know, though, overrode any rationalisation of rules and what danger could come from taking his gun to his room. Carefully watching the kitchen doorway and listening for any sign that the little Cantonese man had already started his day. As quickly and quietly as he was able to, he grasped his gun belt and turned to return to his room.  
  
For a brief moment, he considered hiding it underneath his clothing in case one of his family should see him before he could make it inside his room. But upon looking down at his nightshirt, he came to the conclusion that concealment would not be an option. He started climbing the stairs again, his heart beating a little more rapidly. He let out an audible sigh of relief when he reached the sanctuary of his room and was able to lock the door behind himself.  
  
Now being able to concentrate fully on what he needed to know, Joe moved back to the bed and held the gun belt in front on his lap. He wanted to test how the gun felt in his unnatural hand, and he guessed the best place to start was right now, before he even considered drawing it. Using his right hand, he carefully brought the weapon out of the holster.  
  
Joe berated himself harshly; feeling like this was the first time he had ever held a gun before. But to be totally honest with himself, that is exactly what it felt like. The first precaution to take, seeing as how he had deliberately disobeyed one of Pa's number one rules concerning guns in the house; was to remove the bullets and ensure that no mishap, accidental or otherwise could occur.  
  
Needing both hands to do this task, he held the gun in his left hand briefly, knowing that he couldn't risk the gun falling out of his hands and onto the floor. Until he was confident and knew he could use his right hand correctly, he removed each of the cartridges with his left hand.  
  
With the gun itself now rendered harmless, he felt a little more relaxed about it being in his room, but kept stealing glances towards the door, expecting to hear approaching footsteps at any moment.  
  
Looking more intently at the gun in his lap, Joe started to examine it from all angles. At first, it's comparison to other guns about Virginia City. He knew that his family had the ability to supply a weapon of more expense, but did the extra expense necessarily mean better accuracy or aim from the user?  
  
The handle, a white bone colour was what had drawn his attention to it in the first place. The fact that it had stood out so sharply from all the other guns in the display case the day his father accompanied him to buy it. Back then he had been like a little boy in a candy shop, barely able to contain his excitement and eagerness to learn. That seemed such a long time ago from now.  
  
"Come on, this isn't helping," he hissed to himself, knowing that morning had already come and soon his family would be asking what he wanted for breakfast. If the weather was fine enough, he would take his gun a good few miles away. To a place that few others visited. And there he would practice shooting with his right hand.  
  
For now, he wanted to know how it felt. The metal of the gun in contrast to the handle. It was gleaming back at him. Joe had always taken very good care of his guns. From that day in the store. He oiled it and cleaned it regularly, ensuring that each component would work effectively when required.  
  
Holding it in his left hand, ready to take it in his right, his injured knuckles reminded him that they were yet to heal. Even adjusting the grip of his left hand, the tendons and muscles protested into a dull, persistent ache. No, he would not be able to use this hand to defend himself for a few weeks.  
  
Joe's concentration was broken as he heard a footstep on the floorboards in the hallway. Listening closely for another moment, and hearing two more coming closer to his bedroom door, he quickly took evasive action and hid the weapon underneath the bedclothes.  
  
His haste only seemed to heighten any fumbles from his hands, and he almost cursed out loud as he sat down awkwardly over the spot on the bed as the door was opened. Joe greeted his father with a smile, though he didn't know if Ben had seen his last minute rush to sit down on the bedclothes.  
  
"Morning, Pa," Joe greeted his father, but the pitch was a little higher than he would have liked, almost giving Ben reason to think that a deception was being carried out.  
  
"Good Morning, Joseph," Ben said in return as he surveyed the room. "Are you alright?" he asked, knowing it sounded wrong when everything appeared to be perfectly normal.  
  
"Fine, Pa, just great. How about you?" Joe replied, but again, his voice betraying the fact that he wasn't completely telling his father everything that was going on a few moments ago in the room.  
  
"I will meet you down stairs for breakfast son," Ben said, giving one more look around the room and then closing the door. He couldn't put his finger on what it was, but he couldn't help but shake the feeling that Joe was being as evasive as on the cattle drive. He didn't have the scared look that he had worn around the campfire, but there were certain similarities in the way Joe was holding his posture his answers were short and concise. Almost as if he was too afraid of speaking in case he revealed the truth.  
  
As the lock on his bedroom door made closed, Joe let out the breath he had been holding and sighed audibly in relief. He felt like a snake in the grass, hiding the weapon from his father, but the alternative of admitting his deception was not something he would have enjoyed sharing.  
  
Joe put the gun away safely in his bedside table, knowing that there would be little opportunity to sneak it back downstairs without his family noticing. He would have to wait until later and find an excuse to come back to the house when the coast was clear.  
  
Joe poured some clean water into a bowl on his dresser and tried to calm his nerves by caring out his normal morning rituals. He scrubbed at his face, and looked back at himself in the mirror, not feeling very good about what he had just done. But the need to know if he could use his right hand to use a gun or not was still eating away at him inside, and the question still remained unanswered.  
  
Dressing in a fresh shirt and pulling on his boots, Joe now headed out of the bedroom, ready to meet with his family over breakfast. He promised himself that sometime that day he would find some solitude a little further away from the Ponderosa to practice his shooting skills.  
  
It wasn't until he began descending the stairs that he could hear voices in the dining room. The first one was his father, but the second one, listening for a few more moments carefully, belonged to Sheriff Roy Coffee.  
  
'I wonder what he is doing here this morning?' Joe asked himself.  
  
Ben smiled as he looked at his son walk across the room. Joe had been secretive and elusive upstairs a few minutes ago, now he wore a pleasant, but still reserved look on his face.  
  
"Good Morning, Joe," Ben greeted his son. "Have some breakfast will you?"  
  
"Yes, thank you, Pa," Joe said as he quietly took his seat at the breakfast table. He started to fork some of the food from the table onto his own plate, briefly glancing at his father and the lawman as he did so.  
  
"What brings you out here to the Ponderosa, Roy?" Joe asked noting an awkwardness that hung in the air since he had arrived at the table.  
  
"I brought this here telegram out for your Pa, Joe," Roy answered the question. "Just got it this morning. Got a town a little way out from Virginia City and it seems they have been having some trouble lately. I can't really spare my deputy at the moment, so I was going to ask your Pa and two brothers to see if they could go and take a look for me."  
  
"Why us?" Joe asked after sipping at his coffee. Seemed strange that Roy would come all the way out here to ask his father to do some law work, even if he couldn't go himself or send his deputy.  
  
"Well, that's the strange part about it, Joe," Roy replied. "The telegram asked that the Cartwrights be the ones to come and help. It mentioned Adam, Hoss and your Pa here."  
  
Ben was waiting for an objection and indignation from Joe about his name being left off the telegram, but to his outright surprise, Joe shrugged his shoulders a little and then turned his attention back to his breakfast.  
  
Roy had been expecting a similar reaction to Ben, and was equally perplexed by the young man he had known for all his life. Ben had told him a few minor incidents that had happened on the cattle drive but had not gone into great detail. He had expressed his concerns about Joe's reluctance to share his feelings with the rest of his family.  
  
Ben found himself asking his son about his disinterest, "You really don't object to staying here, Joseph? I have no idea as to why your name was left off the telegram, but I am sure that it was only an oversight from whoever sent it. I am sure they would not truly object to you coming along should you wish to."  
  
"Pa, to tell you honestly, I don't feel like going anywhere right now. We just got back from the cattle drive and there is more than enough work that I want to get done. Heading off to some town so that we can interfere in someone else's affairs, doesn't really appeal to me," Joe replied.  
  
"Well, I really wouldn't call it interfering, Joe," Ben said as he looked over at Roy in apology. He knew how hard Roy worked in Virginia City and knew that he was always short-handed when it came to finding good deputies.  
  
"I wouldn't normally ask your brothers and Pa if I could find a way to do it myself, Joe," Roy said in his own defence. I know it seems like we shouldn't be there, but from what was written in the telegram, the folks there are really having a hard time of it thanks to these newcomers."  
  
"So when will you be leaving and how long will you be gone? Has Adam and Hoss agreed to this yet?" Joe asked. In the back of his mind he was still trying to find the time to do his shooting practice. With his father and brothers talking of leaving the Ponderosa to go to this other town, the perfect opportunity might have presented itself to him.  
  
"Your brothers have not come down to breakfast yet, but I will speak to them when they do. If they agree, then I don't see any point in delaying leaving today," Ben answered. "There will need to be a few arrangements made before we leave for when we are away."  
  
"Did someone mention our names?" came the deep voice of Adam as he descended the stairs followed closely by Hoss who was still donning on his large hat. "You haven't eaten all the breakfast yet have you, Joe?"  
  
"I figured you would be looking for something a little more than just plain old bacon and eggs and coffee, brother," Joe commented playfully.  
  
A smile came to each of the faces of his father and brothers. That had almost sounded like the old Joe Cartwright. The one that joked and fooled around at the breakfast table most mornings, but sure brought a welcome ray of sunshine to their lives.  
  
"Don't go getting all soft on me now, Joe," Adam retorted. "I am sure Hoss here will out eat both of us and Pa too. Morning Sheriff Coffee."  
  
"Dadburnit Adam, that just ain't fair. I can't help it if I am a growing man," Hoss said as he sat down in his chair with a over-exaggerated pouted face. Good Morning, Roy."  
  
"Soon there won't be a cattle ranch big enough in Nevada to keep up the steaks to you,"  
  
Adam said to his younger, but much larger brother.  
  
All three brothers laughed heartily with each other that morning, and it was a sight that Ben could be truly thankful for. Joe had the best smile on his face he had seen in quite a while.  
  
Roy laughed along with the antics of the family and knew that this tight knit family had seen a lot of hard times. Together they had fought many battles, but it was through their strength and love for each other that had seen them come through. Not without scars, but they were still altogether, and that had to count for a lot.  
  
"Boys," Ben said, changing the tone of the morning to a more serious one as he planned to explain the reason for Roy's early morning visit. "I have something important to discuss with you and if you listen to Roy for a moment, that should explain what needs to be done."  
  
"Go ahead, Roy, we are listening," Adam asked as his brow turned down with curiosity. He looked over at Joe to see if his younger sibling knew anything about the topic of conversation, but saw that Joe appeared to be concentrating on finishing his breakfast.  
  
Roy took a swig from the coffee that remained in his cup and then went into the full details of the telegram that he had explained a few minutes ago to Ben and Joe. He told Adam and Hoss about the town and the lawless that had been going on for some time. He also told them about the telegram that he had received from the local Sheriff about wanting the Cartwrights to come and help.  
  
"So, you want us to go with you? Adam asked as he sat back in his own chair and pondered whether or not he wanted to join his father. He looked over at Hoss and saw that his larger brother had already made his decision and would go with Ben to help out for as long as they were needed.  
  
"It sounds as if they really need our help son," Ben said, not wanting to pressure any of his sons. He noted like Adam, that Joe kept his attention focused on the plate and not adding anything to the discussion.  
  
"Well, I don't have anything to do here that is pressing. I guess going down there to help is the right thing to do. When do you plan to leave?" Adam questioned.  
  
"I was just speaking to Joe about that when you came down to breakfast. There are a few arrangements to be made with the hands and in town, but they can be done quickly enough. I was hoping that we might be able to make a start later this morning. It might be a long ride today, but we should make it before it gets dark," Ben answered.  
  
"Better get a move on then, and go get ourselves packed," Adam suggested, Hoss nodding his head in agreement. "Just make sure you don't pack too much this time Joe." he chastised in fun.  
  
"Ha, I travel light compared to the both of you, but you won't need to be concerned about me this trip, older brother, because I am staying right here," Joe shot back. "I decided that I have had enough of your ornery company on the cattle drive."  
  
Adam and Hoss looked at their brother and then their father with confusion. Both of them had naturally assumed that Joe would be joining them. Roy had mentioned about the telegram asking for the Cartwrights. This was the first either of them had any idea that Joe planned to stay behind.  
  
"You mean you are not going, short shanks?" Hoss asked.  
  
"Nope, but don't think I will be doing all of your chores while you are away. They will all be still here, waiting for you when you get back," Joe replied.  
  
"The telegram only asked for the three of us, although I am certain that they wouldn't object to Joe coming along if he wished to," Ben interjected, explaining to his two eldest, the reason for their younger brother not coming with them.  
  
"Well, Ben, I best be getting back to Virginia City," Roy Coffee said as he got up from the table and prepared to leave. "I really appreciate you helping out on this Ben. You know I wouldn't ask if I had a deputy to send along in your place."  
  
"Happy to be able to help out Roy, although I have to be honest from the outset and wonder exactly what we are going to be able to do if the town is as lawless as the telegram states," Ben remarked.  
  
Ben saw Roy to the door with his son's bidding the lawman goodbye. "Guess we had better get started," he suggested.  
  
For the next two hours, Adam, Hoss and Ben kept themselves relatively busy with getting supplies and gear ready for the journey. Joe had chosen to take himself out to the barn to keep out of everyone's way. It wasn't until he found himself out in the barn alone that he had the same feeling begin to creep over him that he had when he rode back into the yard yesterday.  
  
Joe tried to pass the time until his family would leave by doing some menial chores in the barn to pass the time. He began to curry Cochise, but found himself glancing over his shoulder every few minutes as if he could feel someone's presence nearby. He carried on with another few soft strokes, when the feeling began to grow even more intense.  
  
There was no reason for it that he could openly describe or explain. It was like feeling someone's breath on the back of your neck. The fine hairs standing up on end in apprehension. His heart sensed something nearby, but he couldn't see it.  
  
He finally gave the brushing away as a bad joke, and proceeded to hide his fear by throwing himself into some more manual work. He grabbed a fork and began replacing some of the older straw in the horse stalls with fresh stuff. The fear didn't disappear, it only seemed to make his body work harder to mask it. By the time he was finished, the back of his shirt was lathered with sweat and he felt incredibly tired.  
  
Joe had just walked out to the water trough alongside the barn and began to splash some cool water on his face and neck, when Ben came over to speak to him.  
  
"Hard at it son?" Ben asked, a little bemused at why Joe was driving himself to work so hard. There were certainly chores to be done around the ranch, that never changed. The fact that he and his two eldest sons were going away needn't make Joe think that he had to take on the whole work load on his shoulders.  
  
What Ben had not expected was the reaction in Joe as he turned to face him.  
  
"Sorry son, I didn't mean to startle you like that," Ben apologized. It was right then that all of Ben's fears about this son's well-being were reignited.  
  
The wild look and the way Joe had spun around as though bitten, reminded him of how his son had been back at the campfire on the cattle drive. And the way he seemed spooked when they had been returning home and how he had ridden Cochise into the yard like the devil himself was close behind.  
  
"It's alright Pa, just d-didn't hear you come up behind me is all," Joe said, trying to get his breathing back under control. Inwardly he was berating himself harshly for acting like he had.  
  
"I was coming to tell you that we are about ready to leave," Ben informed him, still looking at Joe intently for any sign that he was keeping something hidden.  
  
"All packed then?" Joe asked as he walked back to the homestead with his father.  
  
"Hoss is just about to see to saddling the horses, but yes, I think everything we need is packed," Ben answered. "You sure you don't want to change your mind and come with us? Its still not too late. Won't take long for you to get a few clothes together and whatever else you need."  
  
"No thanks, Pa," Joe said, seeing that his father was only asking out of concern about leaving him on his own. "I am looking forward to just staying at home after the drive and doing what needs to be done around here. I have a few other things in mind to keep myself occupied."  
  
"Oh, and what might those other 'things' be young man?" Ben asked with mock sternness in his voice. Joe had matured more over the last few years than he could have ever imagined and he had no doubts that Joe would keep out of trouble while the rest of the family were away. The ranch was in good hands and they would be only gone a few days at the most.  
  
"Just a few odds and ends," Joe replied, not wanting to give any information away about his intentions on practicing shootings. "I thought I might clean those rifles in the cabinet."  
  
"Well, I don't mind at all," Ben said with a genuine smile. Cleaning and oiling the rifles was a job usually assigned to Adam because Joe and Hoss openly objected so much. If Joe was offering to do it freely, then he wasn't about to tell his son that he couldn't. "Just make sure you are careful," he added.  
  
"I will be Pa, everything around here will be just the same when you get back," Joe promised.  
  
"You look tired, son," Ben commented, seeing Joe rub the back of his neck for the third time since approaching him outside the barn.  
  
"Yeah, a bit," Joe admitted ruefully. "But that is probably after being on the cattle drive."  
  
"Yes, I wasn't particularly looking forward to spending my day in the saddle again so soon," Ben said. "Hop Sing should keep you company while we are gone and he will fix you a good hot supper tonight."  
  
Adam and Hoss had playfully told Joe to mind his manners and made sure he was in bed at a reasonable hour. He was also reminded that all friends he intended to invite to the ranch while they were away were to be on their best behaviour as well.  
  
"See you in a few days, son," Ben said from atop of Buck before they had all bit Joe goodbye and had were slowly riding their mounts away from the Ponderosa.  
  
Joe stood for a few minutes and watched them ride away, preparing to go inside and soak in a nice hot bath and enjoy his solitude for what remained of the day.  
  
What they didn't expect at the time was they would be meeting again in a few days, but the circumstances would be very different from what any of them expected. The cards were about to be placed down on the table, but the dealer had yet to reveal his plan and his cast of people that would help him achieve his revenge on the Cartwright family.  
  
In the town that Ben and his two boys were headed towards, the only noise that could be heard down the street, was coming from the local saloon. Everyone that was involved had been summoned there to hear what the next stage of the plan would be.  
  
A large figure sat at a lone table in the corner of the room, watching the others he had called here and taking in all of their traits and personalities. He had picked some of the best he could find for this particular little operation. But then he had been forced to make up the numbers with a few that he was not so familiar with.  
  
Striking a match from the heel of his boot and lighting his cigar, he stood to his feet and approached the bar, ready to address them all.  
  
"Gentlemen," he said in a low voice.  
  
Some of ten men gathered at the bar had turned at the sound of his approaching footsteps. A quick or sharp nudge with an elbow to, caused the remaining few to turn and face their employer.  
  
"Nice little set up you got here, Boss," one of the men commented, but quickly retreated back from the group a little at the cold stare he received in return.  
  
"You all know the reason I have asked you here. What you may or may not understand is the rules and conditions that I have imposed," he began making sure that he had everyone's full attention.  
  
"The rules are simple; my rules. If you don't like my rules, then leave now."  
  
Not one of them moved towards the door that would have allowed them out of the game.  
  
"Good, glad we understand one another."  
  
"When are they getting here?" came the question from another man in the group.  
  
"They should be on their way here now. I expect them to ride into town sometime later today. When they do, I want you all in your assigned positions. I don't want any of you going off too early and spooking them before they make the livery stable."  
  
"When do you expect this Joe fellow?" came another question.  
  
A smile formed on the man's face at the mention of Joe's name. "Not until I have everything prepared and ready for him. Once we have the others in custody, then I will make the arrangements to get him here. Ain't nothing like a bit of family honour to make them all fall."  
  
"I want each of your names and where you are from so that we know each other before the Cartwrights get here."  
  
The men nodded and starting in no particular order, one by one they introduced themselves.  
  
First, a man with fancy black boots and a black trim hat stood forward, "Name is Johnny Pardon, but they call me "Ace" because I am the best damn card dealer that ever was."  
  
A couple of the other men had snickered openly at the man's bold statement of being the best card dealer.  
  
"Where you from 'Ace'?" one of them asked with sarcasm dripping from his words.  
  
Before the man could laugh any further, Johnny had produced a stainless steel knife from a hidden sheath in his boot. "From New Orleans, not that it is any of your business," he said in a threatening voice, holding the blade of the knife precariously at the other man's throat.  
  
After the tension in the room had subsided a little, then a large black man spoke up next.  
  
"Walt Hays, from Louisiana in the south. I was working on a plantation until a few months ago when I killed one of the men that stood behind us with a whip."  
  
The others in the group nodded their acknowledgement until the next man stepped forward to introduce himself.  
  
Next, a man dressed in an army uniform and sash spoke, "Captain Samuel H.C. Wetherspoon." But he gave no indication from where he was from or any other information about himself or his past.  
  
An man of Indian descent now spoke his name to the group, "People call me Eagle Claw" he said, not offering any further information either. What he and the others failed to notice was the scowl on the face of Captain Wetherspoon from behind. The look of loathing and contempt of all Indian races clearly evident.  
  
A much smaller man now stepped forward to introduce himself, wearing a large sombrero hat and clothing native to his people. "My name is Jose Martinez from Mexicana" he said in a heavily accented voice. "I am here to fight for the money you offer."  
  
Butch Thomas smiled at the Mexican's honesty. At least he knew where they stood. Some of them were here to prove a point or themselves, others, like Jose, were only motivated by greed and the promise of a fortune at the end of it all.  
  
Thomas introduced the next two for them: "These two men are Dusty Slade and Peter Williams. Both were inmates with me at Yuma State Prison. They both have killed in the past and will do so again, given that they are now wanted fugitives from the law."  
  
The next man to introduce himself to the group, was the man Butch Thomas knew the least about. When he had started hand picking this group of men, this stranger had approached him, rather than be asked to fight against the Cartwrights.  
  
"Wilson Hughes is my name. Until a few days ago, I was one of the ranch hands on the Ponderosa working for those no good, high and mighty Cartwrights," he said. "That was until that young pup Joe Cartwright thought he was better than me with a gun and forced me and two other fellows off the land."  
  
Out of any of the men in the group, Hughes was the one with the most recent contact with any of the Cartwrights. He had even spoken to Joe Cartwright and seen the kid draw. He would be most useful indeed, Butch said to himself.  
  
The only two other men left, were dressed exactly the same as each other, including boots, hats and long leather coats. They both chewed a cigar stub on the same side of their mouths and blew two identical smoke rings into the air before they spoke.  
  
"Names are Henry Parker and Frank Fulton," the first of them spoke. We don't do nothing unless its together. We rely on each other and only each other. That way we live longer and don't have to trust anyone but ourselves."  
  
"Well gentlemen, that was informative if nothing else," Butch now remarked, trying to figure out which of them would cause trouble and which ones would prove a good enough ally to go against Joe Cartwright.  
  
"Go back to your drinks until I tell you its time to get ready."  
  
"Henry and Frank, I want you two up on top of the General store roof, covering the Cartwrights above with rifles."  
  
"Ace, I want you in the alley way on this side of the street."  
  
"Captain, you have the alley way on the other side of the street."  
  
"The rest of you will be with me and given your positions as the time gets closer. It's almost time for the trap to be set and the game to begin."  
  
TO BE CONTINUED .........................  
  
Okay, there are the 10 new characters for you. Don't worry if you haven't learned all of their names yet by reading this chapter. They will be introducing themselves again a little differently to Joe and the family in the next chapter.  
  
You can probably guess a few things that are going to happen from this chapter, other little things are still yet to be revealed. How the Cartwrights are captured and Joe lured to the town are yet to be seen. No Joe and his family have no idea that Butch is back yet, but they will soon enough.  
  
Joe and Butch will make up the cast of 12 for Butch's new game. You will learn a lot more about each of them as the story continued. Be prepared for a bumpy ride, as not all is as it seems. There are those that may not be who they say they are.  
  
Please let me know you are reading and review.  
  
JULES 


	5. Chapter 5

**THE GUNFIGHTER**

**By JULES**

**This story is a sequel to False Witness and although it would be possible to read on it's own, you will need to know the background about the character Butch Thomas and how he and the Cartwright family came to know of each other.**

**I have changed my mind slightly for this story and it will take place only 3 years after Thomas was sent to prison for the attempted murder and kidnapping of Little Joe Cartwright. That makes Joe 19 years old for this story and suits the theme of the story a little better. I was originally going to have it five years afterwards at the age of 21 years.**

**Hope you enjoy this one as much as False Witness:**

_**Three years earlier these few words echoed in Joe Cartwright's memory:**_

"**_SOMEDAY I WILL COME BACK. YOU AND I WILL MEET AGAIN – I PROMISE"_**

_**and now the story turns another page and continues:**_

In the town that Ben and his two boys were headed towards, the only noise that could be heard down the street, was coming from the local saloon. Everyone that was involved had been summoned there to hear what the next stage of the plan would be.

A large figure sat at a lone table in the corner of the room, watching the others he had called here and taking in all of their traits and personalities. He had picked some of the best he could find for this particular little operation. But then he had been forced to make up the numbers with a few that he was not so familiar with.

Striking a match from the heel of his boot and lighting his cigar, he stood to his feet and approached the bar, ready to address them all.

"Gentlemen," he said in a low voice.

Some of ten men gathered at the bar had turned at the sound of his approaching footsteps. A quick or sharp nudge with an elbow to, caused the remaining few to turn and face their employer.

"Nice little set up you got here, Boss," one of the men commented, but quickly retreated back from the group a little at the cold stare he received in return.

"You all know the reason I have asked you here. What you may or may not understand is the rules and conditions that I have imposed," he began making sure that he had everyone's full attention.

"The rules are simple; my rules. If you don't like my rules, then leave now."

Not one of them moved towards the door that would have allowed them out of the game.

"Good, glad we understand one another."

"When are they getting here?" came the question from another man in the group.

"They should be on their way here now. I expect them to ride into town sometime later today. When they do, I want you all in your assigned positions. I don't want any of you going off too early and spooking them before they make the livery stable."

"When do you expect this Joe fellow?" came another question.

A smile formed on the man's face at the mention of Joe's name. "Not until I have everything prepared and ready for him. Once we have the others in custody, then I will make the arrangements to get him here. Ain't nothing like a bit of family honour to make them all fall."

"I want each of your names and where you are from so that we know each other before the Cartwrights get here."

The men nodded and starting in no particular order, one by one they introduced themselves.

First, a man with fancy black boots and a black trim hat stood forward, "Name is Johnny Pardon, but they call me "Ace" because I am the best damn card dealer that ever was."

A couple of the other men had snickered openly at the man's bold statement of being the best card dealer.

"Where you from 'Ace'?" one of them asked with sarcasm dripping from his words.

Before the man could laugh any further, Johnny had produced a stainless steel knife from a hidden sheath in his boot. "From New Orleans, not that it is any of your business," he said in a threatening voice, holding the blade of the knife precariously at the other man's throat.

After the tension in the room had subsided a little, then a large black man spoke up next.

"Walt Hays, from Louisiana in the south. I was working on a plantation until a few months ago when I killed one of the men that stood behind us with a whip."

The others in the group nodded their acknowledgement until the next man stepped forward to introduce himself.

Next, a man dressed in an army uniform and sash spoke, "Captain Samuel H.C. Wetherspoon." But he gave no indication from where he was from or any other information about himself or his past.

An man of Indian descent now spoke his name to the group, "People call me Eagle Claw"

he said, not offering any further information either. What he and the others failed to notice was the scowl on the face of Captain Wetherspoon from behind. The look of loathing and contempt of all Indian races clearly evident.

A much smaller man now stepped forward to introduce himself, wearing a large sombrero hat and clothing native to his people. "My name is Jose Martinez from Mexicana" he said in a heavily accented voice. "I am here to fight for the money you offer."

Butch Thomas smiled at the Mexican's honesty. At least he knew where they stood. Some of them were here to prove a point or themselves, others, like Jose, were only motivated by greed and the promise of a fortune at the end of it all.

Thomas introduced the next two for them: "These two men are Dusty Slade and Peter Williams. Both were inmates with me at Yuma State Prison. They both have killed in the past and will do so again, given that they are now wanted fugitives from the law."

The next man to introduce himself to the group, was the man Butch Thomas knew the least about. When he had started hand picking this group of men, this stranger had approached him, rather than be asked to fight against the Cartwrights.

"Wilson Hughes is my name. Until a few days ago, I was one of the ranch hands on the Ponderosa working for those no good, high and mighty Cartwrights," he said. "That was until that young pup Joe Cartwright thought he was better than me with a gun and forcedme and two other fellows off the land."

Out of any of the men in the group, Hughes was the one with the most recent contact with any of the Cartwrights. He had even spoken to Joe Cartwright and seen the kid draw. He would be most useful indeed, Butch said to himself.

The only two other men left, were dressed exactly the same as each other, including boots, hats and long leather coats. They both chewed a cigar stub on the same side of their mouths and blew two identical smoke rings into the air before they spoke.

"Names are Henry Parker and Frank Fulton," the first of them spoke. We don't do nothing unless its together. We rely on each other and only each other. That way we live longer and don't have to trust anyone but ourselves."

"Well gentlemen, that was informative if nothing else," Butch now remarked, trying to figure out which of them would cause trouble and which ones would prove a good enough ally against Joe Cartwright.

"Go back to your drinks until I tell you its time to get ready."

"Henry and Frank, I want you two up on top of the General store roof, covering the Cartwrights above with rifles."

"Ace, I want you in the alley way on this side of the street."

"Captain, you have the alley way on the other side of the street."

"The rest of you will be with me and given your positions as the time gets closer.

It's almost time for the trap to be set and the game to begin."

_And now – the page turns and the story continues……………_

The remainder of the afternoon went by quite unremarkable for Joe. He had drawn a hot bath as he had wanted to and Hop Sing had busily prepared a hearty feast for the two of them.

Whilst indulging in the warm water, Joe had enough time without interruption to think on a number of events that had panned out in his life over the last few weeks. In his head he still heard Tom's pleas for help, shaking his head full of damp curls in an attempt not to heed them and fall into depression again.

As Tom's voice faded, it was replaced with the images from the cattle drive and the realisation that he had almost been seriously injured when falling from his horse. He swallowed, knowing that his father's fears had been founded and had been extremely lucky to come out of it unscathed.

Joe's thoughts now drifted back to his desperate run from the herd and his family and what had transpired in the barn. That feeling of fear began to creep up his spine and made him involuntarily shiver.

Joe knew that he wanted to test out his skills about shooting with his left hand. As the water grew colder and he wiped his face before getting out, he made more decisive plans about where to do his practising the next day.

The evening meal shared with Hop Sing was much quieter than the little Cantonese man could remember in weeks. Conversation was kept to a bare minimum, with Hop Sing doing most of the talking, and Joe answering out of politeness. His thoughts were currently elsewhere, and the look on his face distant.

Hop Sing gently tried to persuade the young man to reveal what was taking all of his concentration. Just when it looked as though the questions would remain unanswered still, Joe spoke up about his plans briefly for the following day.

"I won't be around the yard much tomorrow, Hop Sing," Joe said. He looked up after speaking and could see the questioning look being returned to him. He had seen it before, usually on the face of Ben Cartwright when he was being just as vague about his movements.

"I just have some things to do tomorrow that might take me a little further a field than usual," Joe commented, getting up from the table at this point and taking his mostly untouched plate to the kitchen.

Hop Sing had known his young charge long enough to know that pressuring him to talk would only make him put up the defences even higher. He would keep a silent vigil, knowing that Ben expected it of him while he was away, but also because he cared for Joe. There was a special place in his heart for the youngest member of the Cartwright family.

Joe had carried out his usual pre-bedtime rituals, along with checks of the doors and windows downstairs to make sure that the house was secure. Hop Sing usually carried out the locking of the windows and such, but tonight, Joe felt that he needed to prove to himself that nothing was out of place.

Tiredness was beginning to take its toll tonight, but that was no certain guarantee that a restful night was in store. Especially if his sleep patterns over the last few days were anything to go by. There were a few more lines on his young face tonight, from lack of sleep most would say. But perhaps they were also the result of being in a constant state of alert. His mind continually ticking over and not allowing his body to rest as it needed.

Joe sat down on the soft edge of his mattress, listening and realising just how quiet the house seemed now without the rest of the family present. His thoughts turned to his father and brothers, wondering how far they had travelled today.

He couldn't deny that part of him missed the company, especially at night, when everything seemed so still. The checkers board downstairs would be left abandoned tonight and most likely tomorrow. The main fireplace in the living room had burned down to embers and Joe saw no real reason to place more logs in there. Joe planned to be away for the majority of the day tomorrow and Hop Sing rarely spent much time in the main living room, even when the all the family was at home.

Joe tried to force his mind to relax and allow sleep to slowly creep into his body. He lay against the pillows, making himself as comfortable as possible and hoping to drift off.

Alas, half an hour later though, it seemed that this night was destined to be plagued like any other with sleeplessness.

He tried to clear his mind of thoughts, hoping sleep would eventually come, but instead he found his mind wondering back over old ground from the last week or so. Firstly back to the cattle drive they had recently returned from and the mixed feelings and emotions that had been suppressed in relation to Tom's accident and death.

Then his thoughts turned to his nervousness and apprehension at certain times since returning to the ranch. Little incidents that had seen him reveal his vulnerability and fear for no reason. In the stall with Cochise, and a number of other times he could recall over the last two days. Were they all signs of his tiredness, or something else?

About 3am, Joe was beginning to drift into a fitful doze. His eyes were closed and the edges of his consciousness were beginning to fade into the bliss of rest. His body was relaxed and warm.

Without warning, he shot upright in bed, almost screaming out loud. The hairs on the back of his neck had stood up, like he felt the presence of someone else in the room.

"Is anybody there?"

He looked around in the darkness, but could see no immediate signs of anybody. Then he concentrated on what he thought had awoken him so suddenly. It wasn't fear of his own safety that had caused him to startle out of sleep. He had felt fear about the safety of his father and brothers, but he couldn't put a finger on why.

It wasn't like a nightmare of bad dream where he had seen something to make him think they were in danger. Joe had always been told that he and Ben shared some sort of special connection between each other. That they could sense when something else was wrong, and that is exactly how he was feeling right now.

What Joe didn't know, was that about 8 hours ride away, his father had woken at just about the same precise moment as he did. Ben had looked about their camp in confusion, expecting to see someone else in their small camp site. There was no one.

Ben had put it down to an unseen animal make a noise nearby or such, but for the rest of the night, his sleep too was light and on alert, as though he was waiting for something to happen. He made no mention of his waking to Adam and Hoss at breakfast a few hours later.

Early the next morning, Joe had shared a sparse breakfast with Hop Sing, again cloaked in silence for the most part. The small Cantonese man could see that the youth had slept poorly and suspected that the issue that was bothering Joe was deeply rooted into his thoughts than perhaps first assumed.

Hop Sing cleared the breakfast dishes away, leaving Joe at the table to sip at the remaining black coffee in his cup. Joe tried to take his mind off the thoughts and dreams that had prevented him from sleeping during the night, and instead turned his attentions to the various items around the room.

His gaze fell upon the gun cabinet across the room that was mounted on the wall. It was then, that he put some more thought into his plans for shooting practice today. He left his unfinished cup and got up to walk to the rack.

Joe opened the glass casing, and paused at each weapon, sizing them up for his intended purpose. The majority of them were well crafted rifles that his father had collected over the years, one or two even given to him as gifts from his three sons.

Joe pulled one of the rifles from its slot with his right hand and was about to look it over more closely, when his eyes fell onto another smaller rifle that lay behind the others. This rifle was much smaller in size and was not mounted in a slot like the others. He doubted that the length of the rifle would have allowed it to sit flush like the others, and this was probably the reason for its current position in the gun rack.

Joe lowered the first rifle to the floor, leaning the barrel against the wall, turning his attention to the smaller weapon and taking it out of the cabinet. Memory took him back to the first time he had seen this particular rifle and how excited he had been to hold it. It was his 16th birthday. Pa had presented it to him in front of the family, saying it was from everyone. He had never been prouder that day. His first rifle.

It was Hop Sing walking back into the room that startled Joe from his memories. "Sorry," he mumbled sheepishly as he fumbled with the weapon in his hand. None of them were loaded. Pa had never allowed them to remain loaded whilst in the gun cabinet.

"What Little Joe need gun for?" Hop Sing asked directly, eyeing the weapon and then the youth. Even though Joe was now 19 years old, he didn't like it.

"I told Pa I would clean them before he left, Hop Sing," Joe said, a little truth to his statement. He had promised his father to clean the rifles. What he hadn't expected was a trip down memory lane upon seeing this particular gun.

Hop Sing bustled back out of the room, muttering in his own language under his breath about no good coming to people carrying guns, glancing back at Joe before he re-entered the kitchen. Joe had smiled at the little man's antics, but the quickly faded as other memories began to invade his subconscious. Some he had fought to suppress for a long time, and still battled with on occasion, unbeknown to his family.

These included the reason that Pa had bought Joe the gun in the first place. At the time, Joe had been turning sixteen and old enough by anyone's standards to be begin handling a gun. Most of Joe's friends had already been practising with hand guns for a year or more.

Joe might have been young at the time, but he was not naïve or ignorant to the emotional turmoil that his family had been forced to endure after the trial at the courthouse. Some of those days and what had transpired during them were still part of him, and now matter how much he tried to deny it.

About eighteen months earlier, Adam had openly offered to teach Joe with beginning to use a hand gun. But much to their surprise, or perhaps their understanding, Joe had flatly refused. At the time he had laughed off the suggestion, saying that he didn't need to learn to use a gun yet. Thankfully, his family understood some of the torment he had gone through and were patient enough to give him enough space to make his own decisions.

What Joe's brother didn't realise was that he distinctly remembered the cold chill that travelled down his spine at the thought of a gun in his hand. He knew what one felt like. He knew precisely how it how heavy it had seemed and how bad his hand had been trembling when he was forced to pull the trigger. He never wanted to experience that again.

Adam said that the offer remained open whenever Joe was ready to try, and eventually, Joe had found it necessary to learn about hand guns and their use. But that had not been until about a year ago and a half ago when the number of ranch hands was dwindling and Joe found himself being needed more and more to carry out day to day tasks. Sometimes this involved a gun, for putting a suffering animal out of its misery and such.

For the most part, Joe had taught himself. A little embarrassed to take up Adam's long overdue offer and because he felt self-conscience at how bad his hands had shaken for the first few times he tried. It had taken until the fourth attempt for him to even be able to hold it without his hand trembling and his skin breaking out into a cold sweat.

When Hop Sing returned to the living room, the gun cabinet had been closed, with only one of the newer rifles being taken by Joe. When Hop Sing looked through the glass, he saw the older rifle carefully put back in its original position. Somehow he could sense that Joe thought it best not to disturb old ghosts.

The sound of hooves in the yard outside, signalled that Joe had ridden away. His destination was not quite clear to Hop Sing, but Joe had said he would be back before supper time. There were a number of jobs that needed attending to since Ben and the other boys were away. Joe saw it as his responsibility to carry them out and pitch in, as though he needed to prove to himself as well as his family that he could manage when they were away.

Along a dirt track, Joe raced his pinto, horse and rider becoming one and the wind blowing into their faces. The trees beside them and the road underneath went by quickly as they gained speed. Riding like this always made Joe feel on top of the world. The feelings was so invigorating and unlike anything else he could describe.

"How long do you figure its going to take us to get to this place this morning, Pa?" Hoss asked as he stirred the coffee pot beside the campfire.

"Shouldn't take more than an hour or so, Hoss," Ben replied as he ate the few last mouthfuls of breakfast. "I tried to get as far as we could yesterday before the light faded so we didn't have to much farther to travel today. We don't know what we are up against here until we talk to the local Sheriff that sent that message to Roy."

"Did the message say anything else about what to expect in this place?" Adam asked, not entirely liking the idea of going in to a lawless town without some basic understanding of what had been happening.

"Nope, but asked if we could help and quickly," Ben replied, rinsing off his plates and packing his bedroom away to recommence the journey. "We had better make a move. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can see first hand for ourselves what is going on."

A few miles away in the town where Butch Thomas has set up his mismatched band, the men he had staked out the day before were getting restless with the lack of action. Most of them had been waiting all night, expecting the Cartwrights to ride in late yesterday.

When they hadn't arrived, Thomas had told them to keep their vigilance up in case the Cartwrights got a little too clever for their own good and made their way into town without any of them being prepared. None of them were happy to be spending a night outside in the elements.

Slade and Williams ended up sneaking in some drinking time and would have been of little help the night before. Butch had given them the task of keeping watch from the livery stable, giving them a comfortable bed of straw to spend the majority of the night. Fulton and Parker were not so fortunate, still perched up on top of the roof of the General Store.

Johnny Pardon was still covering the alley way, and would certainly notice any comings or goings within the main street of town.

Captain Wetherspoon had deliberately gone out of his way to steer clear of Walter Hayes, not wanting to associate himself with the dark-skinned man at all. The fact that they were in the same town at all was not to the Captain's general liking and the sooner this alleged competition was over, the better.

No one had seen Eagleclaw since they had taken up their respective posts about the streets, but no doubt, with his Indian background, he would be able to blend into his surroundings with the ability of not being seen. He liked being in town even less than the Captain, but the money Butch Thomas had offered, made them all stay for now.

"Here they come," came a signal from Slade to Johnny Pardon, who in turn, made a gesture with his hand to the Captain. The first trap was about to be set. Word had quickly spread to Butch about the imminent arrival of the Cartwright family within the town, and he had grinned devilishly that his carefully laid out plan was about to be put into effect.

On the outskirts of town, the dust swirled up behind the horse's hooves as Ben, Adam and Hoss rode cautiously and slowly into the town. The first thing that struck them was the lack of action, the second thing, the silence. The place almost appeared deserted and they had to ask themselves if they were in the town that Roy had wanted them to go to.

"Seems awful quiet, Pa," Hoss finally spoke up as they looked around at the vacant shops and headed down the main street.

"Yes it does," Ben admitted, appearing a little perplexed himself at the scene they were being greeted with.

"I thought Roy said they were having trouble with lawlessness and criminal activity?" Adam remarked. What he did notice was that Sport's ears suddenly laid back, as though the horse detected something.

"Something seems odd here, Pa," Hoss commented as they continued down the street. It almost felt like they were riding into a ghost town.

"We had better find the Sheriff's office and see what all of this nonsense is about," Ben said sternly, not liking the idea that they had ridden for over a day for what was quickly seeming like a wild goose chase.

"There is the Sheriff's office over there, Pa," Adam pointed out, giving his horse a reassuring pat, but noticing the horse's heightened sense of alert since riding in. Buck and Chubb appeared to behaving the same, as though they sensed someone was about. But as they looked down the street and to where they had just come from, there was not a soul to be found anywhere.

The Cartwright's changed the direction of their horses slightly and rode towards the hitching rail outside the building that was signed "Sheriff". It appeared to be as quiet as the rest of the street and town, causing Ben to frown a little and wonder why they had been summoned at all to the town. If there had been any trouble or disturbances to report when Roy Coffee had received the urgent telegram in Virginia City, there was certainly none to be seen first hand now.

Halting the horses, Ben remained seated in his saddle for a moment, looking around the Sheriff's office and listening for any signs of someone inside. It appeared that there was not and they may need to find the saloon or other local establishments that might keep the lawman away from his post.

Dismounting, the Cartwright's hitched their horses to the rail. Adam noticed that the horses still appeared to be alerted to someone's presence.

"We can take a quick look inside and then check down the street……………..," Ben began to say to Hoss and Adam when the sound of booted footsteps and the jingling of spurs caused him to stop speaking.

"Don't be making any sudden moves now gentlemen," came the words from the left. Footsteps could be heard coming from the right of them as well, and now they were being confronted by two men, on either side of the Sheriff's office, both brandishing rifles and holding them, ready to use in an instant.

"What is the meaning of this," Ben Cartwright demanded, not appreciating to be asked for help from a strange town and arriving only to have guns pointed at him and his sons. "We were asked to come here!"

"Right now all I am concerned about friend is you and your boys there removing them gunbelts and tossing them over here real careful like," Frank Fulton said, loading the rifle, emphasising that they meant business.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Adam asked.

"All in good time, now remove them gunbelts, I won't ask a third time," the gunman warned.

Adam and Hoss looked towards their father who gave a curt nod to do as they were being told. All three Cartwrights reached for the buckles and began to undo them, releasing the pins and allowing the belts to fall to the ground.

"Now you just all hold still a minute while my two associates behind you take them off your hands," Fulton said.

The Cartwrights whirled around where they stood, seeing for the first time, two other men approaching them from the other side of the street, both brandishing pistols instead of rifles.

The two men on either side of the Sheriff's office, Hoss noted, looked very similar in features. They both wore long leather coats and both had the same make of rifle. The two men covering them from behind were strangers too, but they were both different in looks and the way they moved.

"My associates Johnny "Ace" Pardon," Fulton informed them, Pardon acknowledging with a grunt. "And Captain Wetherspoon," he continued, indicating the larger, taller looking man standing behind Hoss wearing a military uniform.

"Now, very slowly, you are all going to begin walking into the Sheriff's office. And if you even think of trying anything, you will be cut down before you have a chance to finish the thought," Fulton instructed. "Move gentlemen."

Ben went first, followed by Hoss and then Adam as they formed a single line to walk up the three or four steps to the Sheriff's building. The two men with rifles came into full view and the footsteps from behind told the Cartwrights that the two men behind were watching their every move.

Henry Parker moved in front of the Cartwright's once inside the Sheriff's building and opened the door to the jail cells. There were two cells on the opposite site of the room. One larger than the others. This was the cell that was gestured for the three of them to walk into together.

The only window they could see was in the smaller cell. A barred wall separated the two cells. The floor was made of hard concrete and there was no other furniture within either cell. At least there was a little more room for them in this larger cell. The other one was empty, but noticeably smaller in size and they would have been very cramped together in that one.

With all of them now in the cell and their gunbelts being collected and tossed in a corner of the jailhouse across the other side of the room, the cell door was closed with a slam and locked with the keys in Henry Parkers' hand.

"Can you tell us what all this is about. Why we are being held in these cells like prisoners?" Ben asked, his anger clear, but not wanting to provoke the men into shooting himself or one of his sons.

"All in good time, Mr Cartwright. All in good time," Fulton said as he sat on the edge of the one desk in the Sheriff's office. There was a rifle rack mounted on one of the walls as well, but it was empty. Probably where the guns the men held now had come from Adam assumed.

Fulton motioned towards the man called Johnny Pardon, "Go tell the Boss that they are here." Pardon nodded in reply and left with Captain Wetherspoon to find Butch Thomas and inform him of the Cartwright's arrival and capture.

Ben had heard the man call him by his name and began to wonder suspiciously about just how these men came to know him. It couldn't be by pure chance, and doubtful that they had made acquaintance at any other time that he could recall.

"Who is the Boss?" Hoss asked his father in whisper, picking up on the topic of conversation that had been held between the two men.

"I don't know Hoss, but I don't like any of this," Ben replied, a feeling of dread beginning to fill his inner core. There was something not right about this town and what these men were doing. Something just not right…………..

Up on a rocky plateau west of the Ponderosa, Joe Cartwright stopped for a few minutes, blissfully unaware of the fate that had just befallen his father and brothers. He pulled a water skin from his saddle bag and after cupping his hand and drinking his fill, poured some more into his upturned hat, offering it to his horse, Cochise.

"Nice place up here, hey Cooch!" Joe said to the horse as he looked about the surroundings. He was quite pleased with the place that he has chosen to do his shooting practice. He was miles from anywhere or anyone. The breeze was gentle enough just to ruffle the curls on his forehead.

On a bad day, the wind was known to swirl around the bluff with force causing all sorts of trouble for anyone in this spot. Today, however, fortune seemed to be on Joe's side, and there was no sign of anything more than the gentle breeze from the wind today.

The breeze would also be kind on Joe's shooting practice, enabling him to concentrate on his aim and accuracy rather than wondering if the bullet would even reach the target if a gust of wind should come along.

Joe had planned to be here for quite a number of hours, bringing with him enough water to last several hours for both himself and Cochise. He had also brought some sandwiches Hop Sing had prepared and some sugar cookies that had been included as well. He had taken about an hour that morning to gather the supplies and equipment that he would need to complete the practice.

To the untrained eye they may not have seemed much: a few lengths of rope, a few old grain sacks, some old tin cans and a couple of glass bottles that he had been able to sneak out of Hop Sing's pantry without being noticed.

There were just too many questions that would need answering if Hop Sing or anybody else had seen what he was doing. Apart from trying to prove his independence, he didn't know if he was ready to answer all of those questions yet. Some of them might bring up painful memories.

Leaving the tin cans and glass bottles in his saddle bags for the time being, Joe went about setting up the first of his practice targets. Taking the lengths of rope and the grain sacks and placing them underneath a tree that was in the right position.

Behind the tree, there was not much until the edge of the bluff. If something went wrong and a bullet did go astray by accident or by purpose of the wind, there was little chance of it doing any damage to anyone or anything if Joe fired in that directions.

Placing the rope and sacks together on the ground, the next thing Joe set about doing was finding three large size rocks. He found two that were of a good size, grunting and using his well muscled arms to pull them in the correct position. There was enough gap between them to differentiate the targets, but were close enough in the one area that Joe wouldn't need to move around a lot to change his aim too dramatically.

Finding a third rock proved a little more difficult and Joe found himself becoming a little frustrated. Eventually he had to settle on a much smaller sized rock, making it necessary to fold the grain sack before tying with the length of rope. Joe took a step back once he had it in place, standing with his hands on hips and clearly not happy about it. It may be that he could only use the other two rocks and not three. He would make a final decision once he began setting up the sights on his rifle.

Once the grain bags were in place, Joe set about the next task he had set himself, and that was to place tufts of grass behind the bags. The ropes were not tied too tightly and he was able to gather enough dry grass from the immediate area for his purposes. The grass would act as a padding in front of the rock and avoid any chance of a ricochet and the potential for any stray bullets.

The grass would also act as a muffler against the noise that the rifle firing would create. It would absorb the shock and distribute it over the surface of the rock, preventing any excessive echo out over the bluff. Although he had taken all the precautions he could to be out of harms way, his father and brothers had instructed him well and taught him to respect firearms and what they represented, rather just being a weapon in someone's hand.

Joe's intentions this day were to practice not just with the rifle he had taken from the cabinet, but also later with his hand gun. He would use the tin cans and glass bottles as targets. He didn't know which would be easier in trying to teach himself to use his left hand, rifle or pistol, but he needed to try both and satisfy his own curiosity.

He had chosen using the rifle first, allowing his right hand to have a little more to grip onto. The rifle's longer barrel would help him keeping it steady when the hand was unused to grasping anything as accurate as a gun.

Knowing that he had spent enough time fussing about with rocks and vegetation, Joe knew that he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. The burning desire in him, fuelled by curiosity and the past, urged him to face the unknown.

Walking the necessary distance between himself and the rock targets, Joe turned and faced the direction in which he would shoot. He had carried the rifle in his left hand until now, but watched his hand intently as he swapped the weapon to his unnatural right hand.

The weight wasn't uncomfortable, but just like when he had held his pistol in his right hand two days ago in his bedroom, he could sense that it felt different. Not just different, but as though he had never fired a rifle before and this was to be his first attempt.

His hand did not tremble, but the grip on the rifle was awkward and ungainly. He felt as though he was missing a finger or that he hand had been badly injured and was still trying to regain its former strength and mobility.

Joe raised the rifle and attempted to line up his site towards the target. He was not used to closing his left eye, and relying on the right for judging accuracy and distance. The index finger on his right hand fumbled for a moment trying to find the trigger. Deciding that he had to ignore had different it felt to his normal grasp, Joe fired the rifle.

The shot rang out over the bluff, but the projectile did not strike the intended target, nor any other landmark within the immediate area. Joe didn't hear it hit anything, but to stop his frustration of the whole morning mounting, quickly reloaded the chamber, ready to fire again.

Joe took a deep breath and adjusted his aim a little and trying to rid his neck of an invisible twinge that stopped him from relaxing. He fired again………….. This time he saw the bullet strike but unfortunately it was only the trunk of the tree behind the targets, splinters of the bark flying off to show where the bullet had impacted.

For the next forty-five minutes Joe reloaded and fired his rifle many times. With varying degrees of success. Some of the bullets hit the edge of the rock targets, ricocheting off at an angle and landing quite some distance away. Others had been as inaccurate as the first two, hitting higher into the tree, or missing all three targets altogether.

By now, he was close to running out of the supply of ammunition he had brought, so he put the rifle back in its leather holster on Cochise's saddle. After a short spell and cool drink, he would see if his luck or aim was any better with his hand pistol.

While he was taking the cool drink, Joe had time to reflect about what his real reasons for doing this were. He had tried to convince himself that it was a test. A personal challenge to see if he could shoot with his unnatural hand. But the motive behind the need to know was what he didn't want to admit, or face.

Out here in the west, owning a gun and knowing how to use one was almost a mandatory skill rather than something that was respected and gained over time. At one time Joe might have seemed almost impetuous himself to learn how to use a gun. He had often cajoled and pleaded with his father to let him learn.

All that had changed in the blink of an eye, and there was a period of time in his young life a couple of years ago that he didn't want to handle a gun at all. Thankfully, Ben, Adam and Hoss had allowed Joe's reluctance to fade on its own and let his natural curiosity take over when he felt ready.

That had been almost twelve months ago, and since then, Joe had flourished under the tutorage of his older brother Adam at using a rifle and the encouragement of his father. Hoss had also taught Joe how to clean the weapons correctly and how to store them when not being used to avoid a nasty accident.

It was about the time that he was reminiscing and thinking back in time that his father and brothers found themselves being forced into a jail cell quite some distance away.

Once he had seen that Cochise was watered and he had quenched his own dry throat, Joe went to his saddle bags and pulled out the bottles and tin cans that he had brought from home.

He place a glass bottle and a tin can on the top of each of the three rock targets, hoping that dividing them up as such would keep the practice interesting. Joe could only hope that he adeptness at using a hand gun would improve his aim and accuracy more than it had using the rifle in his right hand.

When starting out with the hand gun, Joe employed some of the tactics to those he had used with the rifle, choosing to stand and face the target. The added difficulty with the hand gun was that he wanted to see if he could draw it out of the holder strapped to the side of his gun belt as well as shoot accurately at the stationary target.

Being good with a hand gun had a number of elements that were different to using a rifle.

For one, the draw out of the holster had to be lightening fast. Quicker than your opponent if you needed to shoot to defend yourself. If it felt awkward to hold or didn't feel as though it belonged, that is when you could lose your confidence, flowing on from loss of balance.

The drawing of the weapon and firing had to occur in one smooth, fluent motion. Making the hand gun an extension or part of your arm rather than and addition to it.

Despite the awkwardness that he still experienced with the gun in his opposite hand, Joe felt a little more comfortable with the hand gun. Thankfully, Joe wore a gun belt that had two holsters, one each side.

The first two attempts at drawing, the gun had barely made it out of the holster, the first time, part of it catching on the leather lip and causing the barrel of the gun to point at the ground rather than the target. Fortunately it had not discharged, for which Joe and his foot were very grateful for.

The next few tries were not much better either, with it taking an enormous amount of time in Joe's opinion to make it out of the holster and then be pointed in the direction that it needed to face. He had fired two rounds so far, the first missing the grain bags and spiralling into the dirt. The second nicking the top of one of the bottles, causing the neck to break, but leaving the majority of the bottle unscathed.

By now, the frustration levels in Joe were increasing with each attempt, and he decided that it was time for a change of tactics. Instead of standing as he had been, Joe crouched down, hoping that a change in the height and shooting angle would help hit the target.

He decided to wave the drawing of the gun out of the holster on this occasion, holding the gun in his right hand, but using the left to steady his right forearm as he fired. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

A rabbit.

The small bundle of grey fur, appearing from behind one of the rock targets, sniffing at the ground and hopping forward, using his keen senses to assess the area. And then, the rabbit turned and focused his big soft eyes on Joe. The rabbit's long ears twitching as it listened.

Joe had dropped the gun's barrel away from the critter, not having a mean streak in his body to be able to cause harm to the animal. "Are you trying to tell me something?" Joe said with an uneasy chuckle.

It seemed as though the appearance of the little rabbit was for Joe to admit to himself that what he was doing would never achieve the answers he was looking for. He had needed a little help in finally admitting it to himself.

Joe stood up, placed the gun in the correct holster, and without bothering to collect the bottles or tin cans and grain sacks, prepared to ride away, back to the Ponderosa.

Joe knew it was time to forget the foolish idea of knowing if he could shoot with his right hand or not. His attempts today had only sought to waste time and bullets when there were other chores that needed attending to on the ranch. He would have to be up extra early tomorrow morning to make up for the lost time in mending the fence in the south pasture.

He paused slightly once gripping the reins and turning to look back at his efforts for the last few hours. All he had to show for his efforts was a gash in the tree, some impressions in the dirt where he had picked up the spent cartridges and the one broken bottle that he had managed to hit.

Joe kicked Cochise into a gallop and headed for home with a fresh attitude and determined not to let old ghosts and insecurities tamper with his self confidence. Pa and his brothers would be home in a few days and the daily routine of the Ponderosa would see him forget all about today.

Back at the town where the other Cartwright family members were being held captive in the jail cell, tensions and frustrations were beginning to mount. Ben and his boys had yet to be told the reason for them being confined to the cell and why they had been arrested in the first place.

Hoss was the first to speak, "What do you reckon they got us in here for, Pa?"

"I don't know, Hoss," Ben answered truthfully, but his face devoid of any emotion. His boys were unable to detect his mood or what he was thinking at the moment.

"We can't just sit here and let them arrest us for no darn reason, Pa!" Adam blurted out.

The dark-haired Cartwright was rare to temper like this, but the ride had been long today and yesterday. They had ridden into a town that didn't feel right to begin with and been arrested even before they had hitched their horses.

"I know this isn't the ideal situation, Adam," Ben said, trying to diffuse the situation rather than adding to fuel to it by using a more condescending tone that he might have used with Joseph or Hoss. "I am sure as soon as the sheriff arrives we can straighten this whole mess out."

Adam didn't respond, letting the frustration fade away as quickly as it had come. He found himself looking over at the next cell beside them, noting how much smaller it was in size. It was probably only meant for one prisoner, but still, he was grateful that they had been placed in the larger one.

Fifteen minutes later, the Cartwrights attention was jerked back away from their imprisonment when the front door to the jail house creaked, signalling that someone was coming in. A pair of heavy boots could be heard on the wooden floor. Then it sounded like more than one pair.

Two of the men that had placed then into the cell in the first place now walked through the doorway, trying to intimidate the Cartwrights. Adam and Hoss recognized one of them as holding a rifle at them when told to get off their horses.

Ben decided to take the first step forward, "Why are we being held in here? We haven't done anything wrong."

"Is that right now, Mr Cartwright," Frank Fulton. "I suggest you shut it until you are asked a question or told to speak. I can still point the barrel of my gun through these here bars and put a bullet into anyone of you."

Hoss was about to talk back to the man when another set of boots could be heard entering the jail house. Someone else had just walked in, but he didn't look like the Sheriff that the Cartwrights were hoping for.

The figure that entered was shadowed at first, with his hat pulled down low to hide his features. He was a large man, his build thick set and his shoulders broad. He walked with purpose, as though trying to intimidate the Cartwrights, and set their curiosity on edge.

The man walked over to stand directly in front of the jail cell, surveying who was behind the bars. With the brim of his hat shielding the majority of his face, it was almost impossible for the Cartwrights to know who he was yet.

"You did good," came the gruff response to Fulton. "Now everybody out. The Cartwrights and I have a little talking to do."

Fulton hesitated for a moment, about to ask if that was such a good idea. In case the Cartwrights decided to get clever, but the question never left his tongue. They were behind bars and the from tone of voice, he knew better than to challenge.

The Cartwrights watched Fulton and the other one dressed like him, Parker, withdraw their rifles back to their sides and walk out the door. Now there was just them behind the cell bars and the man who had just walked in.

"Are you the Sheriff?" Ben Cartwright asked. The fact that this man seemed to be acutely aware of their names, did not sit well.

"Let's just say I run this town, Mr Cartwright," the man replied, settling himself at against a desk. "As far as you and your boys are concerned, I _am _the law in this town."

"Who are you?" Adam demanded, keeping his frayed temper in check, but not being able to totally hide his frustration.

"You must be Adam Cartwright. Funny, I was always lead to believe that you were the calm one out of your family," the man threw back. "Your brother always spoke highly of you. Said you were the educated one of the family."

Adam looked towards Hoss, and then to Ben, confusion clearly written on his face that this stranger seemed to know about them. Hoss had given a brief shake of his head to indicate that he couldn't remember talking to anyone recently about Adam's personality traits.

The man laughed as he saw the unease that was clearly evident on the faces of his prisoners. Just how he had wanted things to proceed. If you were going to be ahead of your enemy, you had to know everything about them and then use it against them to your advantage. That is what he had learned in prison for almost 3 years.

The stranger turned to Hoss and looked at the large man, noting that the description he had received some years ago had clearly been accurate. "My you are quite the strong looking man too Hoss Cartwright. No doubting that you could handle yourself in a fight. I can see why your brother relies on you to get him out of a few scraps in the past."

It was at this point that all three Cartwrights realised that the "_brother" _the man was talking about was Joe.

The man now focused his attention on Ben Cartwright, taking a minute to look at the patriarch of the family before speaking. "Mr Ben Cartwright. A man I have heard so much about. I been heard your name spoken many times. Sometimes merely as "Pa" screamed in the dark. Other times whispered in hope that you would come. There was never a time that he thought you would abandon him."

The conversation was getting to detailed for Ben's liking, of his sons. "What do you know about my son, Joseph?"

The man laughed loud and harshly at the question.

"I know plenty. I have seen him when he was at his most vulnerable. When he couldn't

defend himself, but always clung to the ideal that you and your sons would be coming to rescue him."

As though to emphasis the callousness in his voice, the man took a deliberate step forward towards the bars, removing his hat at the same time to reveal his identity, "For the past 3 years, Ben Cartwright, there hasn't been a single day gone past that I haven't thought of the name Joseph Cartwright."

To Ben, the face looked a little older, and the skin a lot more leathery, but the scar on his face was undeniable, and the scornful look only confirmed his thoughts of the man's name: "_Butch Thomas"_

"Well, its nice to be remembered," the man said, placing the hat back on his head, but now allowing his face to be seen. "I had doubts that you would know my name."

Adam and Hoss were just plained shocked. Trying to assess the man's brazen acts to show up in their lives once more. They both knew what had happened last time. Their brother had suffered more than any of them.

Ben didn't make any further comment, but his mind was racing to the thought that Butch Thomas stood before him and his sons. A man that had bought nothing but hurt, harm and nightmares to the Cartwright family. He had only seen the man a few times, but his image was burned into his memory. That day at the courtroom, the look on poor Joe's face when he had seen this animal taunting his.

_JOSEPH….. my God, what could he have done……………. _

The thought written on his face with pain and fear.

"What have you done with him?" Ben snarled.

Hoss tried to be a little more forceful, gripping the bars, "I will tear down this jail cell if you have so much as….." A few loose pieces of rock shook loose from the ceiling, but the bars remained.

Butch had looked at Hoss as he gave his ominous warning, but smirked at the knowledge that the Cartwrights would not be able to break the jail cell.

"You will not be able to escape from the cell. Brute strength or not, none of you will be leaving this cell without my express permission."

"Where is Joe?" Adam asked, his gut beginning to tighten at the thought that Butch had been anywhere near the Ponderosa since they had left yesterday.

Ben's next plea was filled with a lot more emotion, with Joe's safety at stake. "Please, if tell me what you have done to him?" He couldn't bear to go though the agony he had felt when Joe was kidnapped. The anguish of not knowing where Joe was had torn him to pieces.

Butch could see the reaction that he was extracting from Ben with the thought of his beloved youngest son missing again. A reassuring hand on either shoulder from both Adam and Hoss showed Thomas that the family remained as resilient as ever.

"I will have your son, Joseph, Mr Cartwright," Butch said menacingly. "For now he remains where you left him, safely back at the Ponderosa. With this statement, he could see each of the Cartwright men visibly take a breath of relief. But he would make sure it was short-lived.

"When he gets here, he can take up residence in the smaller cell beside you there. After all, he needs to be close to his family," Butch informed them, pointing to the smaller cell.

A lump of dread was now in Ben's throat as he followed Thomas's finger and viewed the smaller cell from a totally different point of view to when they had first seen it.

"Let us out of here now, Thomas," Adam shouted. "You have no right to keep us in here and threaten us."

"Be thankful it is not you that I intend to threaten," Butch snarled in reply.

"If Joe is back at the Ponderosa like you say," Ben began, praying to God that this was right. "He would never come here."

"But he would Mr Cartwright. I know your boy well, and your family. You stick together when there is a crisis," Butch said, pointing out the family's strong points. "And in fact, I am counting on that so much to get him here." he added coldly.

There was no doubt in the mind of Adam and his family as they looked at Butch Thomas, that the man was calculating and devious. After nearly 3 years of jail time, probably even more so than any of them remembered from the trial at Virginia City.

The man had almost destroyed his brother, both physically by kidnapping him and taking him away from those who loved him and familiar surroundings. Also mentally, as the family had been forced to endure Joe's inner battles with the memories and the seeds of bad thought that had been deliberately planted by fear and retribution.

Butch took this opportunity to pull out a folded sheet of paper he had been concealing. He took the time to open it slowly, seeing out of the corner of his eye that he held the Cartwright family's undivided attention.

"I thought you might be concerned about how your boy was doing, so I wrote him a little note:

"_Joe,_

_Arrived in town (stop) All doing fine (stop)_

_Need extra pair of hands to deal with problems (stop)_

_Come as soon as you can (stop)_

_Ben Cartwright _

"How did you know that Roy Coffee had sent us here to help here in the town?" Hoss questioned Thomas.

"You mean about the lawlessness that had been happening and that the town wanted the Cartwright family to help," Thomas responded.

Even before he made the next statement, the Adam and Ben suspected what was about to be said.

"Who do you think sent the note to that fool of a Sheriff in Virginia City in the first place?" Thomas said, clearly proud of his efforts to be able make up such an elaborate hoax.

"You mean that nobody else lives in this town?" Hoss asked.

"I OWN this town and everything in it," Thomas stated gruffly.

"I am going now so that I don't miss sending this to Virginia City," Butch said, refolding the note and preparing to leave without telling the Cartwrights of what exactly his plans for them or Joe were to be.

"Joe will never believe it," Ben said, knowing that he was grasping at straws to try and delay Thomas from sending the telegram. From behind these cell bars, they couldn't do anything to help Joe.

"Why not Mr Cartwright? It has your name on it. Why wouldn't he believe a message from his own father. Someone he respects and loves above all others," Butch remarked, leaving Ben and his boys with their pleas to leave Joe alone.

By the time Joe rode into the yard of the Ponderosa, he knew he was going to have an unhappy Hop Sing. He had finished his gun practice much earlier than planned, but on the way home, had decided to do a few smaller chores that could be done while the sunlight was still good.

Joe had just finished putting Cochise away and was giving her a brushing down when Hop Sing came in the barn door, looking for his young charge.

"You verly late, Lil Joe," Hop Sing said matter-of-factly.

"I know, but I lost track of time fixing one of the posts in the fence on the way home," Joe replied, hoping to defend his tardiness. He didn't dare tell the little man that most of his day had been spent a good deal further away than he had said at breakfast.

"Always excuse, never here for dinner," Hop Sing accused, using other times that Joe had been tardy when Ben was home to fuel his recall.

"Not all the time, Hop Sing," Joe said, trying to sound remorseful. He kept his eyes on the curry comb and Cochise to stop himself from giggling at the Cantonese man's version of a lecture. He really would catch it hot if Hop Sing thought he was being laughed at. Joe knew Hop Sing took on more responsibility when Ben was away, even if it crossed over into the role of parent.

"Dinner cold. Hop Sing no heat up. Lil Joe eat cold dinner. Maybe if Joe want hot food then he eat on time."

"Alright, I am coming in now," Joe said, putting away the grooming tool and following Hop Sing across the yard.

"You worry too much, Hop Sing," Joe offered in his own defence.

"With father away, Hop Sing make it his job to care," the little man said, both of them knowing that the 'care' was mutual and the genuine affection between them was everything that existed in a family.

Joe and Hop Sing stopped halfway across the yard of the Ponderosa, as the sound of horses hooves could be heard approaching them from the roadway.

A familiar figure appeared as he got closer, "Evening Roy," Joe said with a smile, greeting the Sheriff.

"Howdy, Little Joe," Roy said. "Hop Sing," he added, noting the other person present.

"What brings you out here this time of day?" Joe asked, knowing a visit this late in the day was unusual. Whether Virginia City believed it or not, one of the major personality traits of Roy Coffee that Joe had learnt over the past couple of years was predictability and routine.

Joe even commented to Hoss jokingly one day that he could predict with a fair amount of accuracy where Roy would be at any given time of the day. Hoss had taken him up on the wager, and unfortunately, much to Joe's delight, he had not only been surprised and astounded at Joe's prediction, but had lost ten dollars.

"Just got a message for you from the telegraph office," Roy said, unfolding the slip of paper he had been given by the clerk. "From that place your Pa and brothers went to."

"Nothing wrong is it?" Joe asked, a little concerned that they would send a telegram.

"Not so far as I can tell," Roy replied, pulling himself up before he could incriminate himself further. "Clerk just handed it to me, couldn't have seen more than a word or two."

Joe chuckled at the Sheriff's admission, exchanging a deliberately seen wink with Hop Sing, "Oh I know you wouldn't read something that was meant for another, Roy."

Roy reached his hand up behind his head, attempting to divert his gaze to other landmarks about the yard to hide his slight embarrassment. He knew that Joe was good-natured enough and wouldn't get hot under the collar about seeing the contents of the note.

Joe began to read the contents of the note, leaving both Roy and Hop Sing standing nearby, itching to know what it said. When the smile on Joe's face changed, the Sheriff began to get a little nervous. After all, he had asked Ben Cartwright and his family to help out.

"Everything alright Joe?" Roy asked seriously, knowing that anything happening to his father and brothers would be like a blow to the young man himself.

"Yeah, seems to be," Joe replied. "But Pa reckons they need an extra pair of hands," he continued. Holding out the note for Hop Sing and Roy to read for themselves.

"Well I am glad they got there safe enough," Roy said, inwardly releasing the breath he had been holding. "How about it son? Are you going to go and help your Pa and brothers?"

"Seems the thing to do," Joe said, not displaying any sign of hesitance or reluctance. "There isn't much going on around here except normal routine. "Pa didn't really give a lot of information about the trouble that has been going on, but he wouldn't ask unless he thought it necessary."

"No, I guess he wouldn't at that, Little Joe," Roy replied. "I have always known your Pa to be a straight shooter. He might be just missing your company," he joked knowing that there was no greater bond than the one that existed between Ben Cartwright and his youngest son Joe.

"After the cattle drive we just completed, Roy, I doubt that, but I will go anyway," Joe said in fun. His thoughts now turned to supplies that he would need for the journey and any extra care that his horse Cochise might need after the long ride today.

"Hop Sing, we should have plenty of bread and cheese for a day's ride?" Joe asked, knowing that the larders were always more than accommodating. After all, usually Hoss was here to eat his fair share.

"Plenty Lil Joe," Hop Sing confirmed. "I make enough for long trip, and give you extra to feed Mr Hoss when you get there. He probably complaining now that he has no Hop Sing cooking for days."

Joe and Roy shared a small laugh as they watched the little Cantonese man happily hurry across the rest of the yard, towards the house. His mind already onto what to put in Joe's saddle bags and a few extra treats that were reserved only for him.

"Looks like you might need to take an extra saddle bag or two by the way he is muttering away to himself, Little Joe," Roy suggested with a grin.

"If Hop Sing is planning to pack enough food for me and Hoss, I might have to think about hiring a mule just to get it all there," Joe commented. "I will start out in the morning.

"Well, if you need anything before you go, you just let me know. I know your Pa is doing me a great favour in going there when I couldn't spare a man from my own staff."

"Hop Sing should be able to handle the house while we are gone. With the cattle drive over, there shouldn't be too much extra work until we get back. We should only be a few days at the most," Joe informed the Sheriff.

"I better be off now, Joe," Roy said as he prepared to ride back to Virginia City. "You take

care of yourself on that road and get your Pa to send me another message if the trouble gets any worse there."

"Nothing to worry about, Roy," Joe assured him. "See you in two days, three at the most."

Roy mounted his horse and gave a quick pull on his hat and a nod to bid the young man farewell, Joe watching him ride slowly away from the Ponderosa.

Joe walked into the house, taking off his hat and hanging it on the peg behind the door.

As he turned to go into the kitchen to eat his cold supper, he was surprised to see the array of canned and dry goods that Hop Sing had out, preparing for them to be placed in Joe's saddlebags. He really would need a mule looking at all the food, but knew that it was just Hop Sing and how he took care of his family.

Joe sat down behind on of the benches, content to share his meal-time with his friend.

He was surprised when a piping hot plate of meat and vegetables was placed in front of him, the aromas already making him hungry.

Joe looked up at Hop Sing, wondering why the change of heart about having to eat a cold dinner for his lateness.

"Eat before gets cold second time," was the only instruction offered, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Number three son still good in Hop Sing's eyes," he added, giving a brief embrace to the young man before continuing with the supplies Joe was to take.

A fair distance away in another place, supper was also being served to Ben and his boys.

The dusty plates being squeezed through the cell bars, some of the contents spilling from the rushed actions.

Dinner was to be a congealed mix of cold gravy and a stew of some sorts. It was cold and very unappetizing.

The stewed chunks of meat were hard, making Hoss have to stab at it with force. "Hop Sing, I swear I will never refuse your rabbit stew after I get out of here," Hoss said as he tried to put a fork into the bowl again.

Ben and Adam didn't bother with eating. Going without a meal or two wasn't the worst that could happen to them. A feeling of foreboding settled in the pit of their stomachs, knowing that they were imprisoned and without anyway of warning Joe from coming to the town. To stay away from Butch Thomas.

"Adam………," Ben said, his voice pleading. "Joe can't come here!"

Joe rose early the next morning, to make the journey. Hop Sing had given him the over-filling saddle bags and they had shared a fond farewell.

The young man pulled the collar of his green jacket up against the strong breeze that would accompany him a good part of the way. Joe nudged his horse forward and then settled into a comfortable position in the saddle, allowing Cochise to dictate the pace.

About half way through the day, he had paused briefly to take a drink of water and give his horse a rest. The breeze was still persistent, and unfortunately, swirled along the roadway, making it very dusty.

Joe squinted to look in the direction, knowing that there were quite a number of hours to go. Probably more miles than would be possible in the daylight, but Joe was reluctant to spend a night and then have to continue again in the morning. Although it would be late at night when he finally got to the town, at least he would be there and could catch up on sleep once he and Cochise stopped.

"C'mon Cooch, the sooner we start again, the sooner we get there," Joe said as he mounted again. His horse was holding up quite well with the breaks he had been taking.

Dusk had come and gone and the night sky was now sprinkled with stars overhead. Joe was growing very weary and had unintentionally nodded off a few times in the last hour. Cochise was also tiring, but their destination was only a few miles away. They were almost there.

Back in the town, Ben, Adam and Hoss had all drifted off into a restless and uneasy sleep in the jail cell. Frank Fulton and Henry Parker, the two bounty hunters had been assigned the nightly watch on the Cartwright family in the jail cell.

A pair of running boots could be heard coming in, "Quick, get up and ready. Thomas says he is almost here," came the shout.

Butch had kept the two prisoners Dusty Slade and Peter Williams watching the roadway for any sign of Joe Cartwright almost since the moment he send the telegram back to Virginia City. In his mind, there was no doubt that young Cartwright would come, merely a question of when. And he had not wanted to take any chance of him escaping or being alerted to what was about to happen.

Ben and his boys were instantly alert, and trying to see all the action, but Fulton and Parker now lowered and pointed their rifles at the Cartwrights.

"You, fat one," Parker grunted, indicating Hoss. "Move over to the opposite side of the cell." Fulton now aimed the barrel of his gun solely at Hoss, whilst Parker kept his rifle fixed on Ben and Adam.

"Just a precaution, Mr Cartwright, Fulton stated to Ben. "You all just be quite in there now, until this is over and the big one there won't have to get a bullet in his belly. I am sure you don't want to have to be worrying about two sons."

Hoss balled his hand into a fist at the callous way Butch was trying to get at his Pa through his sons, and threatening to harm them for his own benefit. He wanted to punch the stone wall of the cell to let out his frustration.

Adam did try to strain their hearing for any sign of horses hooves in the street. Knowing that the family's worst fears maybe about to be realised, and that Joe was outside.

There was no window in their cell, only a small one in the neighbouring cell. They couldn't hear anything, which only added to their worry for Joe's safety.

On the outskirts of the town, Joe and Cochise came into view. Joe saw a small broken down wooden sign on the roadway. Nailed over the top half of the sign was a piece of flat wood, where the name of the town should have appeared. But the town's name had been blackened out by charcoal and was unreadable.

The bottom half of the sign bore the letters _POP 3_

As he continued riding, Joe was unaware of several sets of eyes watching them from roof tops and alleyways. He didn't sense the rifles pointed at him, ready to prevent any escape.

Thomas's instructions had been clear, not to shoot unless absolutely necessary. They were to wait until he was lured into the livery stable and then Butch would take care of the capture of Joe Cartwright personally.

Sitting in the saddle, Joe was tired, and his posture told the story. His shoulders were slumped, his hat sitting lower on his brow and he was leaning forward over Cochise's neck. A sudden whinny from the horse startled Joe, making him sit up a little more in the saddle and take a look around at where they were.

"What is it, Cooch?" Joe muttered in a sleepy voice, giving the horse a reassuring pat. Maybe a cat or something had startled his horse.

"Sure is a quiet night here tonight," Joe spoke to his horse, noting the silence that greeted him as he rode along the street. There was no evidence of the trouble that his father had stated in his telegram. Although late at night, it struck Joe was unusual that there wasn't a sole about.

Joe rode a few more metres, cautiously wondering where everyone was, when he saw something familiar. There was a livery stable on the right side of the street, with the doors open and a dim light coming from within. Tethered outside on a hitching rail, was Buck, his father's distinguishable horse.

Joe looked about, but couldn't see any sign of his father. The fact that the horse was fully saddled and outside meant that Ben couldn't be too far away. The Cartwright family took pride in looking after their horses, no matter what hour of the day. Perhaps Ben was inside getting ready to settle his horse for the night after a long day of sorting out the troubled town.

"Pa?" Joe said as he dismounted from his horse, tethering Cochise beside Buck and beginning to walk into the stable in search of his father, he thought to be nearby.

"You in here, Pa?" Joe asked, closing his eyes briefly against the change of light. The night outside was pitch black, but the inside of the building was shrouded by the dim lights of lanterns.

Joe had just removed his hat and wiped away the dust that had settled on his forehead.

Suddenly from behind, something struck him hard in the back of the head. He fell face first onto the straw that covered the floor of the livery stable.

Barely clinging to consciousness, Joe reached to the area of his head that had been struck, trying to remove the small pieces of straw from his mouth and nose. He could feel the stickiness of the blood that was present.

Joe tried lifting his head to look about the room. He couldn't see his assailant and could only make out barely recognizable shapes of horse stalls on the opposite side of the room.

The weariness from the journey added to the confusion and fuzziness in his head. His mouth was dry, and he needed a drink of water. He was attempting to turn over on his back, the dizziness disorientating him even further.

Joe did not feel the toe of Butch Thomas's boot nudge him in the ribs, but briefly felt himself moving. By the time his body came to rest on his back and his face was visible, Joe had lost his battle with consciousness. The hand he had been using to try and rise fell limply to his side.

Butch didn't make any comments at first. A little disappointed that his prisoner had not been conscious long enough to note his presence, but there would be plenty of time later for Joe to know who had struck him.

The young man was definitely older, Butch noted to himself. A little more muscle bulk in a few areas, no doubt from working more on the Ponderosa. He saw the gunbelt around Joe's hips and smiled to himself. Yes, he had grown up since their last meeting, but just how much was yet to be determined.

"Put the horses away," Butch said to one of the men before striding out of the livery stable.

On the outskirts of town, the sign that Joe had noted on the way, now appeared a little different. The breeze had blown away the loosely nailed board from the top of the sign, and it now read:

_THOMASVILLE _

_POP: 15_

_to be continued……………………………………………………………………._

Author Notes:

I know the name of the town is very corny, but I wanted to be very obvious that Butch Thomas was back. I think I got the numbers right for the town LOL.

Please bear with me for any mistakes I might have made about shooting practice or any other element of the story. It is all make believe.

I apologize for the length of time in updating, but other things in life have taken away all of my writing time. I am hoping to update RiverBoat Gambler very shortly, but will start on the next chapter to this story as soon as I can.

Hope you are liking the story enough to keep reading.

Lots more to come, the real plot of the story is just about to start.

JULES


	6. Chapter 6

**THE GUNFIGHTER**

**By JULES**

On the outskirts of the town, Joe and Cochise came into view. Joe saw a small broken down wooden sign on the roadway. Nailed over the top half of the sign was a piece of flat wood, where the name of the town should have appeared. But the town's name had been blackened out by charcoal and was unreadable.

The bottom half of the sign bore the letters _POP 3_

As he continued riding, Joe was unaware of several sets of eyes watching them from roof tops and alleyways. He didn't sense the rifles pointed at him, ready to prevent any escape.

Thomas's instructions had been clear, not to shoot unless absolutely necessary. They were to wait until he was lured into the livery stable and then Butch would take care of the capture of Joe Cartwright personally.

Sitting in the saddle, Joe was tired, and his posture told the story. His shoulders were slumped, his hat sitting lower on his brow and he was leaning forward over Cochise's neck.

A sudden whinny from the horse startled Joe, making him sit up a little more in the saddle and take a look around at where they were.

"What is it, Cooch?" Joe muttered in a sleepy voice, giving the horse a reassuring pat. Maybe a cat or something had startled his horse.

"Sure is a quiet night here tonight," Joe spoke to his horse, noting the silence that greeted him as he rode along the street. There was no evidence of the trouble that his father had stated in his telegram. Although late at night, it struck Joe was unusual that there wasn't a sole about.

Joe rode a few more metres, cautiously wondering where everyone was, when he saw something familiar. There was a livery stable on the right side of the street, with the doors open and a dim light coming from within. Tethered outside on a hitching rail, was Buck, his father's recognizable horse.

Joe looked about, but couldn't see any sign of his father. The fact that the horse was fully saddled and outside meant that Ben couldn't be too far away. The Cartwright family took pride in looking after their horses, no matter what hour of the day. Perhaps Ben was inside getting ready to settle his horse for the night after a long day of sorting out the troubled town.

"Pa?" Joe said as he dismounted from his horse, tethering Cochise beside Buck and beginning to walk into the stable in search of his father, he thought to be nearby.

"You in here, Pa?" Joe asked, closing his eyes briefly against the change of light. The night outside was pitch black, but the inside of the building was shrouded by the dim lights of lanterns.

Joe had just removed his hat and wiped away the dust that had settled on his forehead.

Suddenly from behind, something struck him hard in the back of the head. He fell face first onto the straw that covered the floor of the livery stable.

Barely clinging to consciousness, Joe reached to the area of his head that had been struck, trying to remove the small pieces of straw from his mouth and nose. He could feel the stickiness of the blood that was present.

Joe tried lifting his head to look about the room. He couldn't see his assailant and could only make out barely recognizable shapes of horse stalls on the opposite side of the room.

The weariness from the journey added to the confusion and fuzziness in his head. His mouth was dry, and he needed a drink of water. He was attempting to turn over on his back, the dizziness disorientating him even further.

Joe did not feel the toe of Butch Thomas's boot nudge him in the ribs, but briefly felt himself moving. By the time his body came to rest on his back and his face was visible, Joe had lost his battle with consciousness. The hand he had been using to try and rise fell limply to his side.

Butch didn't make any comments at first. A little disappointed that his prisoner had not been conscious long enough to note his presence, but there would be plenty of time later for Joe to know who had struck him.

The young man was definitely older, Butch noted to himself. A little more muscle bulk in a few areas, no doubt from working more on the Ponderosa. He saw the gunbelt around Joe's hips and smiled to himself. Yes, he had grown up since their last meeting, but just how much was yet to be determined.

"Put the horses away," Butch said to one of the men before striding out of the livery stable.

On the outskirts of town, the sign that Joe had noted on the way, now appeared a little different. The breeze had blown away the loosely nailed board from the top of the sign, and

it now read:

_THOMASVILLE _

_POP: 15_

_to be continued……………………………………………………………………._

The room was illuminated by the dull glow of lanterns placed in several places.

The temperature in the room earlier in the day had been stifling, with very little ventilation in the jailhouse at all. There was a staleness to the air and a musty smell as though the place had been disused for a lengthy period of time.

Now it was hours later with the sky outside pitch black and shrouded in the veil of night. But the drop in temperature did nothing to cool the anger of Ben Cartwright or his two oldest sons.

A few minutes had passed since the two bounty hunters had lowered their guns and left the jail house. Their leaving gave no comfort to the Cartwright family that was still imprisoned by the bars of the cell.

Ben's sense of helplessness and anguish about the fate of his youngest son was almost tangible. His vision fixated on the dirt floor beneath him, but his thoughts certainly of Joseph and of finding a way to warn him to stay away.

There had to be some way. The realisation that Butch Thomas was behind this town and the events that had led up to their capture made the need more desperate with each passing minute.

Ben had balled his hands into fists and his nails dug into the skin of his palm with the level of frustration that he was feeling. Looking over at Adam and Hoss who were sitting on the other side of the cell, the expressions on their faces displayed their concern for their brother.

"We can't just sit here," Ben shouted, jumping to his feet. "Joe's life is in danger out there," he continued, knowing that his two eldest sons were well aware of what was at stake.

"There ain't much we can do for him in here, Pa," Hoss said, stating the obvious. "Those two fellows that just left are just itching to shoot us through these here bars."

"And probably a few more outside in the street," Adam added for good measure.

The conversation between the Cartwright family was halted as heavy footsteps could be heard approaching from outside. There was more than one person coming in.

The wooden door was thrown wide open and something could be heard to be scraping along the hard floor. The large frames of the two bounty hunters obscured the view momentarily of what it was that was being dragged.

Following behind the two bounty hunters, Butch Thomas stood in the doorway, a large cigar clenched between his teeth.

"Put him in the cell next to them," Butch ordered, his voice cold.

It was only as the two men moved to obey Thomas's command that Ben's heart was torn from his chest.

"Joseph!"

The sight of his son's unconscious body came into view. Fresh blood was beginning to stain one side of the young man's face.

"Animals! Nothing but animals" Ben accused.

"Oh don't worry there, Mr Cartwright," Butch gloated. "Seems he got a little bump on the head."

"No need to do that to him, no need," Ben growled at Thomas through the bars. His hands gripping the bars until the knuckles were almost white. He could feel the anger in him grow.

Adam watched the as the door was opened and the limp form of his youngest brother was hauled into the cell. Even with the poor light in the room, Joe's lack of movement concerned him greatly.

"Why are you putting him in a different cell?" Adam growled. "Can't you see he isn't fit to go anywhere."

"I promise that none of you will be going _anywhere" _Butch snarled.

"At least give us some water to be able to help him," Ben demanded.

"Out of the question, Ben Cartwright," Butch stated firmly. "Letting you help him is exactly what I want to avoid."

What happened next, confused the Cartwright family even more. One of Butch's men had a coil of rope gathered in one hand and now proceeded to kneel beside the unsuspecting Joe and loop it around his ankles.

"What are you tying him up for?" Ben asked incredulously. "Joe isn't in any shape to be escaping."

"That is what I thought last time too, Mr Cartwright, but your son was more resilient than I gave him credit for. I will not make that mistake again," Butch retaliated. What he didn't tell Joe's family was that he was not expecting Joe to escape at all, rather to remember the past.

Once the man had lashed Joe's ankles together, he tied the young man's hands in front of him, laughing as he glanced once at the unconscious face.

If the Cartwrights had been shocked by Joe being tied whilst unconscious, they certainly were not prepared for what was about to occur. After a curt nod from Butch, the man took two pieces of coloured cloth from his pocket.

The first was tied as a blindfold around Joe's eyes, the second fashioned into a gag and jammed in his mouth. A faint groan could be heard coming from his lips as the man forced his mouth open, but any noise was soon muffled by the cloth.

The gag in the boy's mouth hadn't been part of his torment back at the shack. At that time, Butch was convinced that the boy would be too knocked out from the ether to make any sort of noise and they were too far away from any form of settlement for the kid to scream out for help.

With the young man back in his merciless grasp, Thomas didn't see a problem with digging the barb of torment in a little bit further, for both Cartwright junior and his family in the next jail cell.

"You can't do that!" Ben roared at Thomas, his anger stirring at the seemingly endless lengths this man was prepared to go to torment his son.

Butch gave a cruel grin, but didn't give any further explanation for Joe's bonds. The men followed Thomas out and the Cartwrights were left alone in the Jailhouse, three of them forced to keep a watchful vigil over the fourth.

* * *

Ben didn't even wait for the door to fully close before he was reaching his hand into the adjoining cell as far as it would stretch, trying to reach his injured son.

Looking at Joe, he could see dirt on the young face and his clothes were crumpled from riding in the saddle all day.

Joe didn't show any sign of movement, even with his father's desperate attempts to reach him. The distance between Ben's finger tips and the back of his son's shirt was a mere few centimetres, but that only tormented him further.

So close, separated only by feet, but seemingly so far away to offer any genuine help when Joe needed it the most.

Ben let out another groan of exertion as he butted his shoulder against the bars and reached his arm through to the other cell as far as it would go. By now he was laying on the hard floor, but he barely noticed.

"Joe," Ben called out softly, trying to rouse the boy.

From the angle at which he lay, Ben was unable to determine the full extent of his son's injuries.

The three of them had briefly seen the blood on the side of his face as he was unceremoniously hauled into the cell, but there wasn't enough light in the cells to take stock of any more serious injuries that might be present.

"There isn't a drop of water in here that we can use," Adam said with distain, scouring the small cell that was their prison.

The cell they occupied was devoid of anything and so was the smaller one next door. The floor was hard, and the dust had accumulated on its surface in a thick blanket.

"Let me try, Pa," Hoss suggested.

Ben looked up at his larger son dubiously, knowing that if he wasn't able to reach Joe, then Hoss would not fair any better.

"Alright," Ben replied simply, not wanting to dash Hoss's hopes altogether.

Hoss laid down on the floor, but on his stomach, rather than on his side as his father had done. He licked his dry lips for a moment, and pushed his meaty arm through the bars.

Unfortunately his reach was even shorter than Ben's, "Dadburnit, Pa, if I wasn't so flaming well big," Hoss reproached himself as he stood up.

Ben clapped him on the shoulder for reassurance, "At least you tried."

"I don't know if I am going to be do anything differently," Adam said as he prepared to reach his arm through the bar. The dust on the hard floor was soon all over his trademark black shirt and pants, but right now he didn't even give it a thought.

Ben sat back on the floor, closest to the bars that separated him from Joe. Hoss remained standing, but on the opposite side of the cell, and Adam was crouched in the adjacent corner.

For now, they could do nothing but wait until Joe began showing some signs of regaining consciousness and moved sufficiently enough that they could reach him and help.

The three eldest Cartwrights had very little to say to each other over the next hour as they kept their silent vigils. The only thing they had currently to be thankful for, was that their jailers hadn't returned and neither had Butch Thomas.

Hoss was remembering how he had felt the day they had driven the wagon back after the trial in Virginia City. He had tried to avenge his brother for the endless hurt and suffering that he had caused Little Joe. He had pummelled Butch Thomas until the man bled, and he had gone to jail.

Little of that mattered or made sense now to the big man, as he watched his brother lying on the floor. Somehow Butch Thomas had done what he threatened and lured Joe here to this deserted town.

Adam wore a grim mask on his face as he recalled how long it had taken Joe to recover from his last encounter with Thomas. His brother had lost some of his youthful innocence the day he had been kidnapped and been forcibly taken away from his family.

Although they had nursed him back to health and been there when the nightmares were at their worst, he could never be convinced that Joe hadn't been changed by the whole ordeal.

The sound of footsteps brought the three eldest Cartwright's out of their lost thoughts, and they prayed in earnest that it wasn't Butch Thomas returning to start tormenting Joe already.

The young man still laid quietly on the floor, and still had not awoken to any of their pleading, silent prayers or calling of his name.

Frank Fulton walked into the jailhouse, carrying three pails of the gruelled mixture that was to serve at the night's supper.

"Come eat up Cartwrights, you have to keep up your strength," he sneered from the other side of the bars.

Hoss took the food through the bars, scowling his displeasure at what they were supposed to call food. There were a few other choice words he could think to call it, but nourishment wasn't one of them.

Fulton also gave them a canteen of water. It wouldn't last the three men very long, but Thomas wasn't going to take the risk of opening up the cell door and give any of the family the chance of escape.

"What about Joe?" Adam asked the man, noting that there was no fourth morsel of food, however unappetizing it might look.

"Doesn't look like he is in any shape to be eating, does he now," Fulton retorted.

"How about some water for him, please," Ben asked, too politely for how he was feeling, but his son's life was at risk, and he was being forced to ask these men to help Joe when he was prevented to do so.

Fulton turned and gauged Ben for a minute, thinking that Thomas's plan to break both the father and his son, were both well in hand at the moment. He could see Cartwright's anguish like a stain across his face.

The man didn't doubt that Ben would be willing to sell his very soul to the devil himself if he thought he was helping the boy in the next cell.

"Sure," Frank said finally, turning away and grabbing a bucket half filled with water and walking towards Joe's cell.

"Here you go, kid, you Pa and brothers there want you to have some water," Fulton said to the unconscious youth on the other side of the bars.

Just when Ben and his boys though the man might show a smidgen of compassion for Little Joe, the man showed just how callous he could be by throwing the tepid water, through the closed cell door, dousing the boy with the contents from the bucket.

The water soaked into Joe's shirt and the top half of his trousers, but Joe only offered a small groan in response to the saturation. It wasn't enough to bring him out of his grey prison.

Fulton put the bucket on the floor of the jailhouse and laughed heartily at the lack of response that he received from the boy. He also took pride at the hostile looks he had been able to invoke from the rest of the Cartwright family at his little stunt.

The door to the jailhouse closed and the Cartwright were left again with their silence and the darkness of the prison cells.

* * *

The three eldest Cartwright members found themselves taking up the same quiet vigils as they had done earlier. Each of them took a small amount of water from the canteen to hold off their thirst, but they wouldn't take anymore until Joe had awoken.

There was no guarantee that any of them would be afforded more water in the next few hours, and reserves were very low.

They were unable to find sleep, Ben still trying on several occasions to reach back through the bars once more and try and reach his fallen son who was still bound tightly.

In the darkness, there was little they could do while they waited for Joe to show signs of waking up, except remember back three years ago to when this nightmare had all begun.

Adams thoughts were a mixture of recent events, such as the death of Tom Withers and how much Joe had struggled over the previous few weeks with the accident.

Joe had gone from having to stay with the badly injured man, not knowing when or if help would arrive. When they had reached the sawmill and seen the damage to Tom, Joe had blamed himself for what happened, despite reassurances from his family that was nothing he could have done differently.

Then the news about Tom Withers had done from bad to worse when the man had taken his own life by hanging. Joe seemed to battle inwardly more with that than the accident itself, falling into what his family perceived as a state of depression.

Adam didn't know if Butch Thomas had any knowledge at all about this latest blow to his brother's self-confidence, but could help but feel a stab of fear about old wounds that were going to be disturbed all over again by the man's mere presence in Joe's life again.

Hoss's thoughts swirled around the night that they had returned from Virginia City and found the broken crutch at the bottom of the staircase. That single act of cruelness from Thomas had sent shivers of fear through them all about what might have happened to Joe.

As it happened, they had found him stuffed into the coat closet, bound and gagged. But he had seen his brother's fear after he had awoken from such a traumatic event. Right from the very beginning, Joe had feared that the man responsible would come back.

At first, they had all thought that although the fear was genuinely justified, they had promised the boy that the man wouldn't get to him again. They had sworn to Joe that they would protect him, only to learn weeks later during the trial of Danny Griffiths that no only had Thomas returned one, but three times.

Even being so bold as to snatch the boy outside the courtroom and rekindle the fear once more. The man had then been so callous as to sit in the courtroom on the next day as Joe gave his heartbreaking account of what had happened at the line shack.

After Joe had been shot by Thomas, the family had a tough time reiterating their promise that they would protect him from such a thing ever happening again.

Joe had made the comment to his father as he lay bleeding on the floor that his efforts to tell the truth had only ended up in him being hurt again. Hoss couldn't put a finger on exactly when his younger brother had started to show his independence after the trial.

It certainly had been many weeks, months even. Each day was like a milestone, like being marked off by the Cartwright family as an achievement. Only problem was, Joe didn't see it as any such thing.

During that time, Little Joe had admitted more than once in secrecy to his larger middle brother that he felt like a burden to them all, instead of the hero that they all claimed him to be after having the courage to speak out in the courtroom, and convict the man who had hurt him.

Now, somehow, Hoss knew that the family would have to make the same promise to Joe all over again. Swearing to stop Butch Thomas from hurting him, but even now that part of the oath had been broken before it was made. Thomas had hurt him physically again already and forcibly had him thrown in the small, damp jail cell beside them.

All three Cartwrights in the larger cell looked into the adjacent cell as Joe made a small amount of noise, signalling he was somewhere between being unconscious and awake. They waited for another sound, and were rewarded with their patience when the young man turned his head and moaned at the pain that resulted.

The sound was muffled by the wad of cloth secured in Joe's mouth, but it could still be heard.

"Joe, can you hear me?" Ben called out in the dark, barely able to make out the shadowy figure of his son in the dim light. "Son?"

There was a pregnant pause for a few moments, and Ben thought he could make out the whispered word, "Pa?"

But perhaps that was more wishful thinking on his part. He ached to be able to help Joe or at least touch him and release him from his bonds.

The muffled cry was too soft for any of Thomas's men to have heard, but it was enough to give Joe's family a brief sense of elation. Ben saw his son turn his head slightly, just as Hoss had.

"I am here, son," Ben said, reaching through the bars again, but to his dismay, Joe's head slumped towards the floor again, another groan of pain and he his brief hold on consciousness dissolved.

"Give him a little more time, Pa?" Adam said quietly, placing a reassuring hand on his father's shoulder, knowing that his father was trying to hold onto any shred that was offered.

Normally it was the other way around, with Ben giving them the words of encouragement that was needed in adverse times. Adam knew that his father cared deeply for him and Hoss, but when it came to their younger brother Joe. It was of his youthful exuberance and vitality that often caused them all to worry more.

"It looks as though he took a fairly hard whack to the head," Adam commented, only able to see the blood marring the side of Joe's handsome face from where he was.

"How could we have been so blind, Adam?" Ben asked quietly. "We didn't see the danger until it was too late."

"There was no way we could have foreseen this, Pa. Or done much to prevent it," Adam replied.

"That telegram Roy received seemed genuine enough at the time."

"Yeah, Pa, just like the one Thomas read out before from you to Little Joe," Hoss commented.

"Being from you, Joe would have believed it and not thought twice about coming out here after us."

"How much more does Thomas know about Joe?" Ben asked out loud. "He lured us here at the bait, knowing that your brother would come looking for us."

"The man is manipulative and calculating. Remember before when he stuffed Joe in that closet the night we were out?" Ben pointed out. "Waiting until he knew that Joe was defenceless and away from his family for the most part, and plagued not only on what he had done at the shack to him. But used Joe's own fear against him."

"You know how scared your brother was of the dark back then. It was certainly no secret to us ever since Marie died. He hated being in dark places," Ben continued.

Ben fell back into silence again, offering no further conversation with his two older sons, but there were still a plethora of thoughts running through his mind from back then.

Thomas was an educated man, this much had been obvious from an early point. The man had taunted them that night with a note pinned to Joe as he lay bound and gagged on the floor.

No, not them…… tormented him. Somehow Butch knew that it would affect Ben just as much as his son.

And he was right as Ben remembered every letter of that note;

_**"Could you hear him screaming Ben? He was calling out for him and you weren't there!"**_

Just as they had done back three years ago, the words not only seemed to echo in his mind tenfold, but they shouted at him and reminded him of how he had failed his son.

He had left the boy virtually alone and the unthinkable had happened. Thomas had broken into their house, locked Hop Sing up so that he couldn't help and then proceeded to torture and assault the boy. The burden of guilt had almost too much to bear.

What scared Ben more than the past was what plans Butch Thomas had for his son now.

How could any of them protect him from the man when they were no more than prisoners themselves?

And the biggest problem that Ben had yet to face was how to tell Joe when he woke, who was being his imprisonment.

Maybe Joe already knew that Thomas had struck him back at the livery stable, none of them had been there to see Joe arrive in town.

But something about the way that Butch had ordered Joe bound and blindfolded, told Ben that Joe had yet to learn who his captor was.

Thomas wanted to see for himself the power and control that he believed and perceived himself to hold over Little Joe, physically, emotionally and mentally.

* * *

It would be another hour and a half, closer to dawn that Joe would show signs of regaining consciousness for a second time.

At first, there was a series of smothered moans from the pain in his head that was relentless. Joe didn't open his eyes, but instead rolled onto his back, bending his legs at the knees and taking slow, deliberate breaths through his nose until he could fathom where he was.

Then all at once, the truth struck him full force as he tried to open his eyes and couldn't. He could feel the restriction over his eyes from the blindfold.

The next hurdle that he had to cross was the dryness of his throat. He went to rub his tongue against his lips in an attempt to gain moisture, but tensed his muscles when he could touch the cloth and feel the knot at the nape of his neck. It was so tight that it dug into the soft corners of his mouth.

When he lifted his hands towards his head in an attempt to remove the piece of cloth, the pain from his bound wrists and ankles crept up him. A few moments ago at first there had been nothing more noticeable than dull aches.

But now as he forced himself to take stock of what hurt and what didn't, he sensed the restrictiveness of the rope and the chafing that the rough fibres made on his skin.

Different emotions hit him all at once as the realization that he was tied up began to sink into his aching head. The first was anger and outrage. Who had done this to him and why?

Next was the need and will to survive, which fortunately was strong in him at the moment. It was this want that forced him to remain alert despite the pain and the insecurity of his surroundings.

Joe felt the fear in him start to rise as he realised that the reason he couldn't see was due to a blindfold tied tightly.

He had been bound and gagged before in his young life, but at the moment, there was this odd niggling in the back of his mind that the way he found himself should feel familiar somehow.

Then, all at once without warning, the feeling of déja Vu was almost palpable, and he was forced to swallow the ball of fear that was caught in his throat.

'_No……. it couldn't be happening again!'_

Joe surmised that he must have been tied up for a number of hours and that this was the reason for the stinging sensation in his wrists and the numbness in his ankles due to the strong rope that kept him bound hand and foot.

He didn't know where he was but he could detect a hard floor underneath him and the coldness of the floor had begun to seep into his bones, making them ache even more.

When he remembered back to that earlier time, he could recall that the floor in the small shack was dirt. The floor beneath him now was harder still, giving him a small shred of hope that he wasn't back in the same place.

He could scarcely think straight from the headache and the thought that he was once again trapped in a torture dream from three years ago. He swore viciously at himself for even coming up with such a notion, but the similarities were all too awful.

At one point he thought he could hear someone calling his name, helping to rise above his fear that he was caught back in the line shack with Butch Thomas.

When he had awoken in the shack three years ago, he had been all alone. In every sense of the word. Yes, there had been pain back then too, but the worse fear of all was that his family were far away and he had little chance of them knowing where he was, or being able to find him and come to rescue him.

There had been no one's voice back then except Butch Thomas.

The cruel man who had promised that he would become so much a part of his fear that Joe would have nightmares about when he closed his eyes to sleep at night.

And for a time, that had been true. For weeks, even before seeing the bullet from Thomas's gun roll across his bedroom floor, Joe had reminded himself that the man was still free from the law and could come back at any time to finish the job.

Thomas had told Joe that he would see the man's face when he was awake in the middle of the night and screaming for his family to help.

Thinking on it now, he could remember the jaggered scar running across the man's face even though it had been three long years. He doubted he would ever forget.

Butch told Joe that he would become such a part of his fear that after a while he wouldn't know the difference between what was real and what wasn't any more.

Then Thomas had come back that night and tied him up again and put him in that coat closet. Even at the trial at the courthouse, in front of his family and friends, and the judge himself, Butch had been bold enough to snatch him away from the doorway and the safety of his family and threaten him yet again.

* * *

'_That happened three years ago. He can't get to you now!' _Joe berated himself with.

If he wasn't all alone, then he couldn't possibly be back in the link shack and reliving the nightmare except in his mind.

Luck was a little on his side for the moment, and despite his awkward position on the floor, Joe was able maneuver his hands enough to reach his face to pull at the blindfold. He needed to be able to see first, before anything else.

Ben, Adam and Hoss were all shocked to see Joe go from being unconscious on the floor, and moving about a little, to all of sudden, trying to sit up in haste and reach for the blindfold.

With the blindfold now displaced enough for Joe to see inside the room, his elation at being able to see were quickly dashed by the dim and barely lit room that he found himself in.

The room was almost totally dark, just like it had been with his blindfold on. Joe's attention was quickly diverted to the doorway by the sound of the door opening and a narrow beam of light coming from the lantern that Fulton had lit earlier.

"Joe," Ben said as he watched his son. "Calm down son, everything will work out," he added, but it felt like a bitter lie in his mouth. He didn't believe the words himself.

Joe tugged on the gag around his mouth, though it took three attempts to stretch the fabric enough for it to get loose enough to push out with his tongue.

"Here, Joe," Hoss said, offering the small amount of water left in the canteen from their cell.

Joe reached out with his bound hands and gratefully accepted the tepid liquid. It was hot, but it was wet and helped allow enough moisture into his mouth to speak.

"Pa, what is going on?" Joe asked plainly, giving the canteen back through the bars, and wincing out loud at the pain that stabbed through his skull.

"We are in some sort of jail cell," Joe pointed out, getting a good look at his surroundings for the first time. A small part of him gave thanks that it looked nothing like a line shack.

"Reach your hands here Joe and I will get those ropes off," Hoss suggested.

Because his ankles were also lashed together, standing wasn't possible at the moment. Shuffling himself along the floor allowed him to get closer to the adjoining cell.

Joe put his wrists up against the cell bars, but it soon became apparent that the cords were too tight for any attempt from his larger brother.

"Thanks anyway, Hoss."

"How come none of you are tied up like this? Did I do something wrong to get locked up in here on my own like this?" Joe asked. "I don't even know how I got in here."

Joe's thoughts were along the line that he must have given too much cheek to the jailer, and had to be subdued more than his father and brothers. That may account for him being kept separate and being hogged tied like he had been.

"Must have been too ornery for the sheriff, hey Hoss," Joe said, adding a short laugh, but it sounded too much like a stale joke all too quickly as he looked back at the concerned faces of his family.

Ben was looking at Adam for a way to gently break the news that they all wanted to keep from Joe, but in hindsight, erred on the side of caution and started slowly with similar questions of his own.

"What is the last thing you remember, Joe?" Ben queried.

"Well I have got me one hell of a headache at the moment, Pa. But let's see. Roy Coffee came out to the house late yesterday afternoon," he began to explain.

"Hop Sing was already mad at me for being late for supper," he said, giving a small smile, knowing his family would understand the little Cantonese man's antics.

"I bet he was happy with you," Adam commented, trying to keep the conversation flowing. He knew all too well that there was bad news for Joe just around the corner, and gave thanks for every second that they could delay telling his younger brother.

Joe continued to tug at the ropes around his wrists as he spoke, "He was actually, and even reheated my dinner for me," he said with a smirk towards Hoss, knowing that no one else in the family would have been afforded such a privilege.

Hoss grinned back, reminding himself to rib his brother about it when they ever got back home to the Ponderosa. _If they ever got back _he silently thought.

"Anyway, I left early this morning. I was so tired when I rode into town, I didn't notice anybody in the streets outside or anything. The whole place seemed very quiet."

"From the telegram I got from you, Pa, I was expecting to ride into a whole mess of trouble."

Ben didn't reply but thought how apt his son's perception had been, _'riding into a whole mess of trouble alright, Joe'_

"When I got to the livery stable, I saw Buck tethered outside, which I thought was odd for you, Pa," Joe continued. "You keep reminding me to look after my horse."

"Yes son, that was very careless of me," Ben said too quietly, knowing that it hadn't been him at all that left his horse outside the stable. Just like him and his two eldest boys, the animal had been the bait to lure Joe into the trap set by Butch Thomas. Like the fake telegram.

"After that, I don't remember anything," Joe admitted, rubbing at his aching forehead as best he could. He winced out loud as the fibres from the rope came into contact with the darkening bruise that was blossoming down the side of his face.

"So how much more do you all know?" Joe asked as he pulled at the chafing ropes.

Ben opened his mouth, trying to think of the right words to say, but before he could utter anything, the distinct sounds of footsteps could be heard approaching the jail house.

The three eldest Cartwright's immediately assumed that it was Butch Thomas coming back to see if Joe was awake, but they were surprised when it was a different face altogether.

It soon became apparent though that Joe recognized the man straight away.

"YOU!" Joe shouted in outrage. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, holding onto the bars and trying to pull himself upright.

"Well, looks like the young Cartwright pup has grown some teeth," the Stranger said as he neared the cells. "Too hot-headed, and too foolish to know it."

"I should have known you would have something to do with this," Joe accused, not taking lightly to the label of being a fool. He had foiled their plans that day and prevented something much worse from happening.

"How do you know this man, Joe?" Ben asked, looking at Adam and Hoss to see if they had seen him before. Both of them shook their heads in a negative response.

Ben knew that Joe had the wrong answer about who was behind their imprisonment, but listened to his son as he spoke.

"This is the man I chased away from the Ponderosa before you left, Pa," Joe said, his anger beginning to bubble to the surface.

"The man you thought was organising to rustle some cattle?" Ben asked, remembering the conversation. A lot of things had happened since that day, and he had scarcely given the matter another thought after Joe mentioned it at the dinner table.

"The same one, Pa," Joe confirmed.

"You don't even know what we were planning," Hughes taunted. "Trying to act like you were in charge and could do something about us. Those other two cowhands were just as stupid as you. I should have tested you out a little more that day."

"What's stopping you now," Joe dared him. He hadn't been intimidated by the man last time, and wasn't about to be now. "Open up the cell and let's finish this."

Adam could see that his younger brother's temper was beginning to emerge, probably fuelled in part by his headache and their imprisonment.

"Joe, you ain't exactly in any position right now to take this here fellow on," Hoss pointed out, voicing the concern they all shared.

"Don't fight him in here, Joe," Ben pleaded with his son, trying to think of a way to stop things before they turned nasty. His son was provoking the man into action.

"I don't need any of you to fight my battles for me, Pa," Joe said plainly, keeping his eyes fixed on his opponent as he spoke.

"You stay right where you are, Cartwright," Hughes warned, brandishing a gun, and pointing it first at Joe and then towards the three other men in the next cell. "Anybody moves too quick and I will put an ounce of lead in them."

Hughes found the bucket that Fulton had used the night before to douse Joe, and now filled it about half way again. With the pistol clearly in view, he placed the bucket at his feet briefly and opened the door to Joe's cell with his free hand, locking it again once he was inside.

The man walked a few more steps into the room, and set the bucket down on the floor, "Don't get any funny ideas," he started to say, but before he could finish the sentence, Joe made his move.

Despite his hands and ankles being tied, Joe tried to use his bound legs to knock the man off balance and get him down on the floor with him. If he could get the man down on the ground with him, he stood a much better chance of the fight being even.

Ben and the others were unable to reach Joe or the man who had entered his cell and stood before him with a loaded pistol. They were forced to watch with bated breath as to who would get the upper hand. The odds were stacked against Joe when the fight wasn't even fair to begin with.

Hughes was almost too slow to step back when saw Joe kick his legs out. The man was caught off guard briefly, and had to use his arms to brace himself to avoid slamming into the brick wall of the cell.

In direct response, Hughes delivered a painful kick of his own to Joe as he still lay on the floor.

Joe grunted as the boot caught the fleshier part of his calf muscle, but refused to give the man the satisfaction of crying out loud in pain. It hurt like the devil though.

Ben was about to say something to Wilson when his youngest son provoked the man a little more.

"Your such a big man, standing over and kicking me when I am down here and tied up," Joe accused as he tried to ignore the pain in his leg.

Hughes didn't immediately offer any more conversation, but instead tried to scare Joe and his family some more by bending down and reaching his hand down inside his boot and drawing out a short-bladed serrated knife.

"No, don't!" Ben pleaded, thinking that Hughes was going to stab and injure his son before he had any chance of defending himself.

Joe wouldn't allow his uneasiness of the knife to show on his face, but he did watch the blade as it glimmered in the pale light of the early morning. He swallowed a little, wondering what Hughes next move would be.

To his astonishment and the relief of his family, just as Joe was getting ready to close his eyes and feel the hot slashing of his skin, Hughes did something entirely different.

He watched both his intended victim and the three men in the next cell at the motions.

Hughes brought the knife over towards Joe, but instead of lifting it up to cut into his body, he began sawing at the ropes that bound the younger man's ankles. With a few short, firm slices, the fibres were severed and Joe's feet were free of their bonds.

Not wasting any time to allow the man to get the better of him, Joe quickly scrambled to his feet. His legs were stiff from being tied up, and the kick that Hughes had delivered a few minutes earlier caused him to grimace in pain as his legs accepted his full weight.

He tried to take a step forwards, but only managed a small limp, grabbing out at the bars to help himself stay upright. When he put his hands on the bars, he felt those of his father's encircle his own for the first time.

Ben was fully prepared to give whatever support his son needed, even if it was restricted to the other side of these bars.

"Are you alright son?" Ben asked, knowing that it was a poor excuse for a question, but he could see the unsteadiness in Joe's posture.

"It hurts some, Pa" Joe said softly so that Hughes wasn't able to overhear. It was a toss up which hurt more at the moment, his leg or his head.

Standing up had allowed the blood to rush from his head and fall to his feet, leaving feeling a little dizzy and disorientated. He reached up with his hands to the side of his face and rubbed at the side of his face with his bandaged hand.

Until seeing it just now, Ben hadn't thought too much about his son's injured left hand. They had been too worried about him being brought in unconscious and the fate that awaited them all from Butch Thomas.

Looking at it now, the bandage could use changing. It was no longer white. The fabric was dusty and frayed along the edges from the ride from the Ponderosa. It was stained now with a mixture of dried and fresh blood from the gash on his head.

"Get away from each other there," Hughes growled, pulling Joe roughly away from his father's gentle hands.

Adam and Hoss could do little more than keep there hands in their pockets at the intense injustice they felt for themselves and their father, but mostly for Joe. He was the one who was hurting in the most danger.

The man knew that it was Thomas's intention to keep them separated as much as possible. The jail cells being side by side to each other really didn't do that enough.

* * *

"You want water or not, Cartwright? I won't make the offer again," Hughes snarled making his point with the knife, thrusting it menacingly and pushing Joe further away from his family towards the half-filled bucket.

Joe decided that it was best to get what little bit of water was offered now because he couldn't be sure if it would be available later. To him or his family in the next cell.

Cautiously, still keeping his eyes trained on Hughes as much as possible, Joe cupped his uninjured hand and submersed it in the tepid liquid in the bucket. He brought the small amount of water in the palm of his hand to his lips and savoured the dampness on his dry lips.

He did this a second and third time, but the fourth time, whilst his actions were hidden by the rim of the bucket, he clenched his hand into a fist, and without warning, then flung the bucket and its remaining contents at Hughes.

Hughes was taken off guard for a few seconds, forced to use the hand holding the gun to strike out and avoid it hitting him in the face. The gun fell to the floor with a metallic clatter.

In direct retaliation, Hughes hit out viciously at Joe, punching him as the younger man fought to keep his balance. His shoulder struck the brick wall painfully, but he wasn't quite willing to give in yet, and prepared to deliver another blow of his own.

"I should have put a bullet in you that day, Cartwright," Hughes spat back, regaining possession of his weapon, and aiming at Joe.

"That will be enough," came a voice from the doorway of the jailhouse.

Hughes was reluctant to step back at first, but smirked when he saw the realisation on the face of Joe Cartwright of who had just spoken. He exited the jail cell, locking it behind him.

"You are very lucky that I don't put a bullet in you," Thomas warned ominously to Hughes.

"Nothing happens to Joe Cartwright unless I say so."

"Stick around, I will need you in a minute," he instructed.

Hughes was less than happy with the situation, and hated that Thomas had chastised him in front of the other men, but knew that the man was capable of and erred on the side of caution for the time being.

He had heard the comment made by Thomas to Hughes, and suspected that the man expected him to be his personal play toy once more.

When he had been first taken by Thomas, the motive was supposed to be a lumber contract

that his father and Adam had put a bid in on. And Thomas had been hired by Williams as the muscle to make sure that Ben Cartwright withdrew from the contract.

But once Joe had arrived at the line shack, it was made perfectly clear to him that Thomas wanted to make the torment a personal thing. Butch had told him in not so many words that he wanted for Joe to remember who he was for a very long time, and he had in fact delivered on those words.

To Joe Cartwright, all other sounds in the room ceased as watched Butch Thomas walk into the room. He had recognized the voice instantly, and he couldn't hide his shock or surprise at the man's presence.

As the initial astonishment wore off, Joe's expressive face turned to a stony mask, devoid of any emotion. The young man told himself that he couldn't let this man get to him again as he had done three years earlier.

He couldn't let this man bully and hurt him like he had done at the line shack. And he could withdraw away from his family like he had done back at the Ponderosa when Butch had broken into his room on two occasions.

There were no words spoken and the silence was almost deafening except for the sound of Thomas's heavy boots on the floor of the jail house.

Butch watched Joe intently, not shifting his piercing gaze as he made his way over towards the cell and now stood in front of it. He noted how the boy's shocked exterior turn into the calm one that he saw before him now.

There was a difference about the young man this time, and Thomas couldn't be sure that it was all due to the fact that he was older.

Ben Cartwright watched his son's face intently as well, waiting for a sign as to how his son was feeling and thinking. His son must be terrified he told himself, but looking at Joe's face, that wasn't what he saw.

Adam, like his father had seen Joe's surprised look as Thomas appeared in the doorway, but both he and Hoss could see Joe fighting hard to keep his emotions in check and any other feelings to himself.

"Joseph Cartwright," Thomas declared, standing with his hands on his hips and a cigar clenched in his teeth, looking his victim up and down.

"Butch Thomas," Joe responded with feigned disinterest.

"I have waited three long years to catch up with you," he said, almost expecting the boy to take a step backwards and let his fear show.

To his amazement and that of his family, Joe didn't take a step backwards or shy away from the tormenter, but instead took a purposeful step forward, facing the man on equal terms.

"Well then, let's get this over with," Joe challenged, using the anger that he had felt towards Hughes to fuel his thoughts and words.

Butch Thomas swiped the smirk of his face, admiring the boy's brave front, but beginning to grow angry at the casualness of their encounter. He had wanted the boy to cower before him like he had done back at the line shack that first day of his captivity, or on the road where he had first been taken.

But looking at Joe's expression now, he wasn't going to get what he wanted straight away.

"Looks like you found yourself a little more back bone, Joseph" Thomas said with conviction in his voice. "I hope you will demonstrate for me, just how much more assertive you have become since our last meeting."

"You can't make me do anything this time around, Thomas," Joe said, his voice low and calm.

His whole manner towards Butch was one of contempt as he stared back with defiance. The boy's manner was almost dismissive and angered Thomas further, the man deliberately walking closer to the cell bars.

"I promised you last time that I would knock that wild spirit out of you, Cartwright," Thomas snarled.

"You didn't succeed though did you!" Joe pointed out, watching with a small smile as the man's face became redder still.

"I am not sixteen anymore, Thomas. You don't have any hold over me this time."

"Drag him out of there," Thomas ordered gruffly to Hughes, who was only happy to oblige.

* * *

"You stay where you are, Ben Cartwright. If you or your boys try and help him in any way, your son Joseph will suffer the consequences."

Ben could see that Joe's brave performance had riled Thomas and the man was in no mood to

be charitable. Adam and Hoss didn't want any further harm to befall their younger brother, and feared what might happen to Joe now as he was forcibly removed from the cell.

With his hands still tied in front of him, and Hughes pistol trained on him, Joe tried briefly to get the upper hand as he was grabbed roughly and forced to walk from the cell towards the jailhouse door.

The two bounty hunters appeared at to Thomas with their rifles, about to remove Ben, Hoss and Adam from their cell.

"I wouldn't want you to miss anything, Ben Cartwright," Thomas sneered as they were forced to walk the same path as his son.

When they got to the outside of the jailhouse, the three older Cartwrights were ordered to stand alongside the front of the building, the rifles made sure that they compiled without causing any trouble.

Unfortunately for Joe, once he exited the jailhouse, he had a much rougher trip to the street outside. The sun was shining brightly and the light made Joe squint for a few minutes as he tried to get his bearings.

Joe was standing on the raised decking outside the jailhouse. The two bounty hunters took up their respective positions on the right hand steps, keeping their weapons pointed at his family.

For now they were at least alive, and hadn't been harmed, so that was something to be grateful for.

On the left hand steps leading up to the building from the general store, stood another two men, both with pistols in their hands. There was another small crowd of men standing on the street in front of the jailhouse. Joe didn't recognize any of these men.

Apart from Hughes and Thomas, there was nobody that he could put a name to, and there must have been about ten men present apart from his own family.

Hughes used his pistol to make Joe walk towards the front of the decking, and without warning, gave Joe a mighty shove, sending him sprawling awkwardly to the dirt street.

Joe landed painfully on his right shoulder, and groaned.

Butch Thomas and several of the men laughed heartily at Joe's discomfort and ungainly position on the street. The young man's face and clothes were smothered in dust as he tried to sit up.

"Joseph!" Ben cried out as he saw his son pushed. It wasn't high up, but with his hands still tied in front of him, his son had no way of bracing himself against the hard surface beneath him.

As Ben took a footstep forward to check if Joe was alright, one of the bounty hunters waved him back with his rifle, threatening to shoot him if he tried anything foolish, like trying to reach his son.

"I guess by now you are wondering what you have been brought here for, Joseph," Thomas spoke.

Joe scowled as much as he could from his where he was laying, but refrained from saying anything. Hughes used the steps and walked towards him, still holding the pistol towards him in a threatening manner.

"What sort of sick game have you thought up, Thomas?" Ben demanded to know. It was his turn to speak out about the harsh treatment that his son was being forced to endure.

"A game?" Thomas said in mock surprise. "Well Mr Cartwright, you might just be right about that."

"Let me introduce you all to some associates," Thomas began.

One of the men in the small group introduced himself.

"Name is Johnny Pardon, but they call me "Ace" because I am the best damn card dealer that ever was." Joe noted that the man wore a pair of fancy black boots and a black trim hat.

A couple of the other men had snickered openly at the man's bold statement of being the best card dealer, just as they had done earlier when the man introduced himself to Butch Thomas.

Secondly, a large black man spoke up next. "Walt Hays, from Louisiana in the south. I was working on a plantation until a few months ago when I killed one of the men that stood behind us with a whip."

The next person to introduce himself to the Cartwrights was a man dressed in an army uniform and sash spoke, "Captain Samuel H.C. Wetherspoon." But he still gave no indication from where he was from or any other information about himself or his past.

An man of Indian descent now spoke, "People call me Eagle Claw" he said, not offering any further information either.

Joe saw a dark express pass over the face of the man dressed in uniform and could see that there was some hidden animosity under the surface. The look of loathing and contempt of those of Indian decent was clearly evident to Hoss, Adam and Ben as well.

A much smaller man now stepped forward to introduce himself, wearing a large sombrero hat and clothing native to his people. "My name is Jose Martinez from Mexicana" he said in a heavily accented voice. "I am here to fight for money."

Butch Thomas smiled again at the Mexican's honesty. At least he knew where they stood. Some of them were here to prove a point or themselves, others, like Jose, were only motivated by greed and the promise of a fortune at the end of it all.

"You see, Ben Cartwright, I merely had to offer the right incentive to these men here, and they gladly volunteered for this little _game_ as you call it," Thomas said.

"Those two men standing on the left hand steps are Dusty Slade and Peter Williams. Both were inmates with me at Yuma State Prison. They both have killed in the past and will do so again, given that they are now wanted fugitives from the law."

The two bounty hunters covering the rest of

you Cartwrights are Frank Fulton and Henry Parker. As you can see gentlemen, they are experienced with their weapons of choice."

'We don't do nothing unless its together. We rely on each other and only each other. That way we live longer and don't have to trust anyone but ourselves," Frank Fulton spoke for both of them.

"And I believe that you have already been acquainted with Mr Hughes standing beside you there," Butch said, gesturing to Wilson, still holding the pistol pointed at Joe.

"Yeah, we've met," Joe voiced, giving Hughes a disgusted look.

"I look forward to us meeting again too, Cartwright," Hughes responded, cocking the hammer of his pistol for emphasis. It took a stern look from Thomas to make the man stop from going further with his threat.

* * *

"The _game_ is simple. A round of gunfights until the last man is standing," Thomas explained, seeing the worried expressions on Ben Cartwright's face as he spelled out his son's impending fate.

"You fight, you win, you survive. Can't be much simpler than that."

"And what if I don't want to take part in your little gunfight or your little game?" Joe asked, keeping his anger in check as best he could.

"Well then Joseph, I guess seeing as you are scheduled to face Dusty Slade, then he will shoot you and your carcass will be left in the street for the buzzards to pick at," Thomas said, not sugar coating any of the details of his plan.

"And if I win?" Joe enquired, wanting to know the other side of the coin.

"Being a little optimistic, but I guess it can't hurt to tell you," Butch chuckled.

"If by some chance you happen to best Mr Slade here, then you survive until round 2 and your next opponent. That person is yet to be determined by the other rounds between the men that you see gathered here today."

Adam was sure that any sort of gunfight organized by Butch Thomas had to be rigged against his brother's favour of winning. If Joe didn't fight then he would be killed. If he did participate and overcome his opponent, then the best he could look forward to would be another opponent willing to kill him. Not very good odds either way.

Ben kept his attention focused on Joe and Butch Thomas. Hoss and Adam tried sizing up the two bounty hunters, seeing if there was a chance of getting free. But both of them still held their rifles, ready to shoot on Thomas's word or if they saw the Cartwright's move.

They had heard Thomas's threats directed at Joe if they tried to escape or help him, and didn't want to put his safety at risk any more than it already was.

Ben was trying to gauge his son's reaction to the game that Butch had devised. Up until now,

Joe's method of dealing with any fear of the man was to direct it back at him in anger and accusation. He couldn't blame his son for feeling this way, but did worry about what Thomas's reaction would be. Until now, he had not lifted a finger to Joe, standing back and allowing his hired guns to carry out his dirty work.

The other gunfights will take place between the following:

"Peter Williams will face Frank Fulton."

"Mr Hughes you will be face Johnny Pardon."

Pardon gave Hughes a sneer after hearing who his first opponent would be. Pardon believed in his own abilities enough to believe for certain that the Cartwright kid wouldn't have to worry about the man carrying out his threat.

"My condolences for your family, Mr Hughes," Pardon offered, taking off his hat, and bowing slightly, gesturing as if the conclusion had already been decided before they faced each other in the street.

"Don't be so sure, Mr Card man," Hughes shot back, kicking out at Joe once more as he grinned at Pardon's statement. His aim was accurate enough for Joe to roll over a little and gasp at the pain that engulfed his already injured leg.

Hoss was forced to remain still as he saw the man kick his brother for the second time today while he was laying on the ground. They wanted to be able to help Joe, and keep him away from Thomas.

"Henry Parker your first opponent will be Jose Martinez."

"Captain Wetherspoon, you will face Eagle Claw."

"Damn waste of ammunition if you ask me," Wetherspoon said sarcastically. "But then again,

the only good Indian is a dead one."

There was no doubt on anybody's mind that Butch Thomas had gone out of his way to set up this rivalry. Wetherspoon responded to the news by taking a step forward and deliberately spitting on the ground in front of the Indian.

Eagle Claw remained standing in the same place, not giving into the taunts of the white man. He had heard many of them before. They only way to show this man how little his words meant was to defeat him in front of all of these men tomorrow.

There was no doubting the Indian was a large man, and Butch Thomas along with several of the other men had their doubts about Wetherspoon coming out of the competition alive, despite his bold words. Looking at Eagle Claw now, the man eyes were dark, almost brooding, waiting for the right opportunity.

"That leaves only two other opponents for the last fight tomorrow. Myself and Mr Hays," Butch finished. He had as much like of black people as Wetherspoon had of Indians, but he didn't voice that opinion out loud. There would be enough time tomorrow to show he meant business.

Butch Thomas of course, wanted the final gunfight to be between himself and Joe Cartwright, but that meeting was yet to be decided by the outcome of the other gunfights.

Joe looked at Butch Thomas and could almost read his thoughts about him wanting to face him in a gunfight. He didn't figure out why Butch just didn't set it up between the two of them in the first place.

But knowing Butch like he did, the man would want to drag out Joe's torment as much as possible and having other opponents allowed him to do this.

The other thought that crossed Ben's mind was that if Joe was killed, then Butch would be able to claim self defence with any lawman and get away with murdering Joe scot-free.

At the moment, there was very little Ben and his two eldest boys could do, but watch in anguish as Joe as slowly being pushed to the limit.

Butch was setting up the game so that he would be the winner, no matter what happened.

* * *

With the sun now climbing higher in the sky, Joe rubbed at the gash on his head, the pain beginning to become more noticeable with the heat of the day.

He now wished he had drunk a little more of the water from the bucket before tossing it Hughes back in the jail cell.

Butch Thomas now spoke again, "Get him back inside," he instructed Hughes.

"On your feet, Cartwright!" the man hissed, his pistol still in plain sight.

Joe complied, knowing that with a gun pointed and him and rifles at his father and brothers, there was very little he could do at the moment other than do what he was told.

Once back in the jailhouse, perhaps being out of the direct sunlight would help him come up with a plan of escape for them all when his head wasn't pounding so badly.

Joe got up, a little awkwardly due to not being able to use his hands to help himself. He choked back the gasp of pain as his full weight was again placed on his legs. No sooner

had he stood up erect, when he suffered another rough shove to his shoulder from Hughes,

sending him sprawling back to the dirt street.

Thomas watched on, not chastising Hughes as he had done earlier in the jailhouse. He wanted to see how Joe would handle himself now that he was claiming to be older.

A few of the men standing about laughed out loud at Joe's mishap, none as loud as Hughes though. The man was too busy chuckling at the young man's misfortune to see Joe Cartwright struggle to his feet again, this time however, he had a grim look on his face.

Ben could see his son's temper reach boiling point. The boy was hurt and had been humiliated in front of these men and wasn't about to take anymore abuse.

Hughes turned back towards Joe, just in time to be on the receiving end of a two handed punch. His hands might have been tied together, and his head was throbbing, but he wasn't completely helpless nor about to let this man bully him more in the middle of this street.

Hughes was startled by the blow and surprised by its ferocity, and used the edge of his shirt sleeve to wipe the blood away from his split lip.

He still held the gun in his hand, but with the blow, its aim had been altered. Wilson was about to turn the gun angrily on Cartwright when Thomas stopped what about happen.

"He got you fair and square, Hughes," Thomas said, pointing his own gun at Hughes in case things got out of control. "Now take him back to the cell…...without troubling him further."

"This isn't over yet Cartwright……….," Hughes warned, gripping his hand around the butt of his gun tighter.

For a moment he had held the upper hand, but he didn't like it when it was thrown back in his face, not even by Butch Thomas. One way or another he and Joe Cartwright would finish their little fight without any interference and then they could see who truly was the better gunfighter.

* * *

Ben knew that Butch hadn't saved Joe's life out of any compassion that Thomas felt for his son, but he had to be grateful for the small amount of mercy offered as Joe was marched back to the jailhouse.

As he walked through the doorway, Joe turned his head back, wanting to see what was happening to his father and brothers. To his relief they were being forced back into the jailhouse behind him, the bounty hunters on either side of the three of them.

Joe was made to enter the smaller cell once more, but before the door was locked behind him, Hughes made a point of clubbing him between the shoulder blades with the butt of his pistol.

Joe gave a grunt as he was driven to his knees from the glancing blow.

He quickly got to his feet, ready to whirl on his attacker, but stopped short when the door swung between them. Hughes was giving a small grin of satisfaction that he felt.

"Get out of here," Thomas ordered both Hughes and the two bounty hunters, once both cell doors were locked. Any conversation that was to pass now would be between him and the Cartwrights only.

Once again Butch focused most of his attention on Joe, standing before his smaller cell, but able to plainly see the other three Cartwrights. Thomas looked back at the young man with a slightly different opinion from the one he had held before heading into the street. And a very different one to how he had perceived Joe Cartwright three years ago.

Joe wasn't about to back down to Thomas's menacing gaze or let the man's power overtake him this time around.

Taking a more determined stance, and moving up close behind the bars, Joe with his hands still tied in front of him, daring Thomas, his green eyes smouldering into grey.

"I am not afraid of you anymore."

Thomas laughed out loud at the statement, trying to unnerve his young prisoner, but could see that part of what he said was true.

"Depends on what you call afraid," Thomas threw back. "There are many different levels of fear, Joseph."

"Is that what you were trying to do when I woke up here with the gag in my mouth and being tied up like this?" Joe asked. "Trying to make me go back down memory lane remember to back then?"

Thomas's lack of response confirmed Joe's statement for all involved.

"I have done a lot of growing up in three years, Thomas. And I am not about to let you hurt me or torment my family like you did back then. Gunfight or no gunfight."

"Bold words, Joseph. But I don't really believe you have changed that much at all, no matter how much you reckon you have grown in three years."

"Three years can change somebody, I know, there hasn't been a day in all that time, that I haven't thought of your name. Wondered what you were up to. How I could get back at you and make you pay for breaking your promise about not revealing my name that day in the courthouse."

"Six months ago, I promised myself that I wasn't going to rot in that Yuma State Prison for the rest of my life on the account of Joe Cartwright."

Joe wanted to say that Thomas's imprisonment had been his own doing, but kept the scathing words on the tip of his tongue, unspoken for now.

"So I persuaded Williams and Slade to come with me. We organized to bribe one of the guards and snuck out to freedom. Both were handy with a gun. They made their way here, and have been waiting until I told them what was going to happen."

"And what if they had of gotten killed by breaking out with you, or captured by the law before now?" Joe asked.

"They didn't like the idea of dying in that prison anymore than I did."

"And if they die here on the streets of this ghost town because of you?" Joe challenged.

"At least they will have made the choice to take part rather than sitting back at that prison waiting for someone else to tell them its time for them to die."

"Somehow I don't think they will see your point of view when they are looking back at the bore of a pistol tomorrow and the high probability of a bullet hole in their chest," Joe shot back.

* * *

"After getting away from that prison, I started making my plans to get back at you somehow.

I knew it wouldn't be easy at first, with this family of yours always trailing behind you. But in some ways as you can see, they were your downfall too."

"Only because you feed them some crummy story about coming to this town in that telegram that the sheriff showed me."

"I have been watching you for quite a while now boy," Thomas informed Joe. "I have been your shadow for weeks, keeping an eye on you and what you have been doing."

Joe swallowed a little nervously at this statement, knowing that he had felt like someone was behind him all the time, but never really able to confirm it or know who it was.

Even his family had made mention of it. Until now, none of them had guessed that Thomas would have been behind it once more.

"You were quite the little hot-head back at the Saloon back in Virginia City the other day where you faced up to Hughes at the bar," Thomas taunted.

"You saw that?" Joe said, his voice barely above a whisper, knowing the encounter that Butch was recalling. It was the same day that he had learnt about the death of Tom Withers.

"I saw you ready to take him on, all over some damned cripple man that he was talking about," Thomas replied, smirking at little as he saw the angered expression on Joe's face at the description of Tom as a cripple again.

"You nor he are even half the man Tom was," Joe snarled with a sudden burst of anger and grief for his friend. He refused to let his emotions get the better of him in front of Butch. That was what the man was counting on to happen.

Ben, Hoss and Adam were alarmed at Thomas's admission that he had been stalking Joe for sometime. Some of the pieces of the puzzle from the last few weeks were beginning to make a bit more sense and fit together.

They all shuddered to think that Thomas could have made his move at any time. When Joe was on his own, and nobody would have known. Just like on the road that fateful day to school, those men had taken him when there was little chance of Joe defending himself or gaining help.

"You seem to have forgotten how to sense that I was about in a room, Joe. Just like that day back in your room with the bullet I left for you. I thought I taught you quake in your boots whenever I walked into a room."

Joe's facer flushed a little redder from the humiliation at Thomas's words. He remembered all too well how scared he had been back at the courthouse that day when Butch had grabbed him outside and threatened him.

And the day that the bullet had rolled from behind his mother's picture, and for the first time,

Joe really knowing that Butch was still around after being brought home by his family.

"You must have followed me when we went on the cattle drive a few days ago too," Joe accused Butch.

"Very good," Thomas applauded, taking the cigar butt from between his teeth as he held an amused look on his face. "You felt me watching you didn't you."

Joe didn't answer, but knew that it was clearly written on his face. His turned briefly to his father and brothers, offering them a brief smile as they recalled how uneasy Joe had felt by the campfire that night.

Joe had pulled his gun, thinking that there was something watching them from a distance.

Stalking him. There had been the smaller incidents coming back from the drive when he had ridden his horse at neck-breaking speed, and how jumpy he had been around the house and barn once they had reached home.

Ben felt bad as he realised what Joe had sensed at the Campfire that night when he looked so scared. Joe had refused to open up and share his feelings, and his family had allowed the matter to drop without much more probing.

"I am not afraid of you anymore," Joe said through the bars, trying to put some belief into the words. "I am not going to let you hurt my family because of me again."

"Yes, your great family," Thomas said, walking over to stand in front of the larger cell and take a closer look at the three eldest Cartwrights. None of them were about to let Butch threaten them or Joe if they could do anything about it.

"You would do anything for your family wouldn't you, Joe?" Thomas asked plainly.

"Yes," Joe answered truthfully to the question.

"I won't let you hurt my son all over again, Thomas, mark my words," Ben stated firmly through the bars, making sure that the man heard his promise.

"We aim to stop you anyway we can," Adam added for himself and Hoss. The larger brother. remembering how he had punched Thomas in the courtroom that day after he had shot Little Joe in full view of everybody in the room.

"Just as I suspected, Cartwright. We will see if this family of yours can stand to see you go out into the street and gun down another man in cold blood. Or if they are indeed the crutch that I believe you rely on all too heavily."

"You tell me that you are all grown up now boy, and ready to be a man. Well maybe you are just about to get your chance yet to show that to me beginning tomorrow."

By now Butch was growing bored with the whole conversation, especially since he had not been able to invoke the same amount of fear into the boy as he had hoped. The boy was still afraid, no doubt about it, no matter how much he said he wasn't.

But there was now an open defiance in both Joe's actions and words and there was a wild streak in the boy that Thomas wanted to see if he could tame and break.

Thomas turned, ready to walk out of the jailhouse, leaving the Cartwrights to their own thoughts, and Joe to his fresh torment of what tomorrow would bring.

Before he closed the door, he made one more statement, knowing that Joe wasn't telling the entire truth about not being afraid of him.

"I bet you never told them or showed your family the letter I wrote to you that day either, huh Joe?"

Thomas closed the door, already guessing at the answer.

* * *

For the next few minutes, there was nothing but silence between the two cells as Joe tried to digest everything that had happened in the last hour and what Thomas had talked about.

He could feel his family's questioning eyes on him about Thomas's last statement, as well as many of the other things that they had heard.

"Let me try and see if I can loosen the ropes again, Joe?" Ben said gently, seeing the pinched looked on his son's tanned and dusty face. Some of it no doubt was from the pain that he was experiencing from the blow to his head, but some of it was also due to having to rehash old memories.

Joe looked up at his father and wanted so much to reach out to them, but he also realised that they were the pawns in this deadly game too. That Butch Thomas knew his closeness with his family would be his biggest weakness apart from his own doubts and fears.

He couldn't live with himself if something was to happen to one of them because of his own selfish pity. He had to pull away from his family, not get closer. He couldn't let them wrap him up in their protection like they had done before today, no matter how much he truly wanted to.

"I can't, Pa," Joe said, his voice catching in his throat. He forced himself to turn away from them and walk towards the adjacent corner of the room.

"You don't have to do this all alone, Joe," Adam said, trying to give his brother some reassurance that they would still help him, even if he didn't want it.

Joe refused to answer, but in the back of his mind, doing this alone was exactly what he needed to do most. How or why Thomas had come back into his life didn't really matter at this point in time. The only thing he had to focus on was surviving. Like he had done back at the line shack.

Survive against his opponent in the street tomorrow. Somehow get through this nightmare, one minute at a time.

"I will beat him for you just like before, little brother," Hoss promised him.

"You can't fight this one for me, Hoss, none of you can," Joe said simply. "This time is has to be just me and him."

Ben could see that they weren't having much luck at convincing Joe that everything would work out. So he employed a different tactic to try and learn more about the pain that Joe had been suffering in silence over the past three years.

"When did you get this letter?" Ben asked in a quiet voice.

Joe rubbed his hands over his face, showing just how exhausted he felt at this point in time. He wanted nothing more than to lie down somewhere on a soft bed and forget all of this ever happened. But he knew that sleep would be a long time in coming.

"That first time you let me take the wagon into town after my leg was healed," Joe began to explain. He saw no point in hiding it from his family. "I picked up the mail just like you said. Amongst the other envelopes there was a plain one waiting for me, with no postmark. No way of knowing who it came from."

"But it wasn't hard to tell from what it said who had sent it," he added, wringing his hands together to hide his nervousness as he remembered what had been written on the page.

**"SOMEDAY I WILL COME BACK. YOU AND I WILL MEET AGAIN - I PROMISE**"

Joe repeated the words that were tattooed in his memory.

There wasn't much Ben could say as he heard the fear begin to surface within Joe from that day.

After being shot, it had taken a lot longer for Joe to put on the face or normality once more and go about his daily routine.

At the time, his family understood his fears and anxiety, but thought that time would heal all wounds, even the mental and emotional ones. How wrong they had been, after hearing now how troubled Joe's thoughts had remained.

Joe had done exceptionally well to hide his feelings from his family, and none of them had suspected anything out of the ordinary until today. But why had he felt so compelled to keep something like that from them.

Why had he felt that he had to deal with everything on his own? Did he think they wouldn't understand?

Thomas had told them a short time ago that he had broken out of prison about six months ago, but the expression on Joe's face told a different story. Somehow Ben surmised that Joe had thought of Butch Thomas again even before the accident at the saw mill with Tom Withers.

Somehow Joe's subconscious had known that the man was around again, but perhaps refused or didn't want to believe it to be true until Butch was standing in front of him today.

"How long ago did he come back, Joe?" Ben asked, truly wanting to know.

The question surprised Joe at first. He didn't quite know how to answer it. There were sleepless nights for many months after he was shot. Where he had only been able to silence his terror and screams by the fabric of his pillow.

There were times when he wanted to talk to his father and brothers about how he was feeling, like why it had taken more than a year for him to stop looking over his shoulder on that road towards Virginia City whenever he rode alone.

At some point, and he couldn't have put a time frame on exactly when Joe had forced himself to keep his thoughts, fears and memories from his father and brothers. Knowing that his family needed to get back to their lives and the Ponderosa needed to function normally again.

For a long time he convinced himself that he had buried the memories and pain deep enough so that he could forget.

"Ever since the line shack, he has always been inside my head. Maybe I have been lying to all of you as well as myself all this time."

"On cold days my leg still aches, but you can't see any but thin scars there now. Every now and then in the dead of night, I wake up feeling like I am standing on that chair again, with the noose slowly tightening around my neck. Squeezing just a little more.

"I guess for me, he never really went away, Pa?" Joe said softly, barely above a whisper.

* * *

Joe found his headache was increasing and the exhaustion that he was feeling from earlier was quickly gaining momentum.

He didn't want to deal with much at the moment and he didn't want to remember any of it. He slumped against the far corner of the cell, and slow let his body slide down until he was sitting on the floor with his back leaning against the hard cement wall.

Joe drew his knees up slightly, grunting at the pain from his injured leg, wrapping his injured hands around his knees. His head was bent back awkwardly against the wall, with his eyes closed. He gave a tired sigh just wanting to escape his own thoughts for a while.

"Am I strong enough to face him again, Pa?" Joe quietly asked his father. He wasn't expecting a response.

"I don't know if I am ready to do this all over again."

to be continued…………………………..

AUTHOR'S NOTES: There are a lot of explanations about how long it has taken to update for readers, but most of them you don't need to hear. Apologises to all who were waiting so long.

The next update will not be this long. My next story to update for Bonanza will be "Riverboat Gambler" and I have a whole stack of new ideas to write when these two are finished.

Please let me know what you think – reviews keep me writing faster.

I hope you are enjoying the ride so far.

Jules


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